


On Wings of Metal and Magic

by Cerch



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Assassin merlin, M/M, Magic, Moral Ambiguity, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerch/pseuds/Cerch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot is a safe haven in a world ravaged beyond repair, governed by strict rules meant to ensure every piece and person contributes to the continued existence of humanity. According to the laws set by the immortal Triad ruling the city as a person without magic Arthur is a non-contributing piece, and if ever found out he’d be faced with either execution or exile. However, not all of the players on the city’s political stage agree with the laws, and both sides have people who are not afraid to dirty their – or at least someone else’s – hands. Merlin’s hands might be covered in more blood than he cares to remember, but he is no more than a pawn until he ends up in the same cell as Arthur, and together with him follows Morgana Pendragon into a war that they seem to lose before it even begins. </p><p>In the end their only chance is to find a way to kill the immortals – a way the immortal witch Nimueh claims she has.</p><p>(aka acbb '15 and the evil fic monster)</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Wings of Metal and Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreyaFenris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaFenris/gifts).



> Seeing as acbb '16 is now posting here's my acbb '15. Better late than never? 
> 
> This is a magical dystopia AU where I turned every little thing from the show around and then twisted it for good measure. I like the world, and I hope you like it too, and I apologise for any OOCness stemming from all the changes. Also, this is like 1/3 betaed so apologises for the 2/3, though I promise I did a lot of editing while wailing loudly. 
> 
> Thanks to sassafrasx for everything, including holding my hand, kicking my arse, finding me an artist, and for being generally the awesomest person in existence. 
> 
> Also thank you, freyafenris, for agreeing to be my artist ([ART POST HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7313425/chapters/16610416)), not hating me, and for being unfailingly enthusiastic about this story even when I hated it with every fibre of my being. AND FOR MAKING ME THE MOST GORGEOUS ART EVER!!
> 
> And finally a thank you to thumbsplitter who told me to get over myself and just write the final 2k words I had been putting off for a year.

** **

 

**MERLIN I**

Merlin glances at the clock on his wrist and frowns. It’s two minutes past five; the tram was supposed to be at the stop a minute ago. He peers down the street, but the claustrophobic maze of buildings obscures his view. He can afford a small delay, certainly, but his skin prickles unpleasantly all the same because the tram is never late, moving with the perfect precision of its machinery.

Discreetly he scans the streets and windows in the area while strengthening the illusion of unremarkability around himself. There are no shadows looming in the windows, no suspicious loiterers standing against the walls. The only people around seem to be the pair of old women disappearing around a corner holding hands.

Four past five Merlin spots the washed-out red of the tram approaching and shoves his unease down and squeezes in, barely managing it due to the mass of bodies packed inside. It’s no wonder the rush has delayed the tram, Merlin thinks pointedly at himself – there is a first time for everything. Hardly a reason for paranoia.

A few people squeeze out before his stop, tripping and cursing over each other, but Merlin is the only one who gets off at the stop near the gate. Though there are a few people hurrying along the street and a car passing by none of them raise any alarm bells in his head and he slips away to a smaller street, content that he isn't being followed. Without checking his watch he knows that he has more than enough time to get into position.

The hunter headquarters is on the outer ring near the gate, built out of the same grey stone as almost every other building in Camelot, managing rather pronouncedly to be entirely uninspired in every way. Including security. He has calculated nine different potential exit routes and eight entrances.

Right now Merlin is quite happy to use the main door, though. He steps into the shadow of the building and discards his unremarkability, drawing on a different illusion he has perfected over the years; an almost frightening aura of authority and importance replaces the insignificant and forgettable bypasser. He can feel it rolling onto his skin in waves of unpleasant prickling. Experimentally he squares his shoulders and smiles cockily at the wall. He doesn’t want to send a conflicting message that could endanger his magic, so he strides confidently to the doors and steps inside.

He approaches the receptionist with a polite if a bit impatient smile plastered on his face.

“Excuse me,” he says when the receptionist doesn’t lift his eyes from the papers he is reading behind the desk.

The boy visibly jumps, takes a deep breath, and fixes his glasses on his nose before taking a good look at Merlin and shrinking like a mouse. The image is only strengthened by his untidy muddy brown hair and the nervous twitch of his nose. Merlin feels a vague sense of guilt about the panicked look in the man's eyes, but it’s not something that can really be avoided, so instead of easing his expression he lifts an eyebrow.

“I need you to let me in,” he states calmly, drawing a hint of familiarity into himself. He sees the moment when the receptionist thinks he recognises Merlin as someone who belongs here.

“Right away, sir!” For a brief, horrifying moment he looks like he wants to salute, but blessedly he decides to simply jump up like he’s been thrown by a spring and bounce across the floor to the doors. He only drops the heavy bronze key once before managing to get it into the lock.

The cogs of the door turn silently and the lock snaps open with a soft click. It’s clearly a high class job, though simple enough that Merlin is relatively sure he would be able to pick it within a quarter of an hour. Or steal the keys in about two minutes.

He smiles pleasantly. “Thank you,” he says and steps through to the hallway on the other side.

“Absolutely no problem anytime glad to be of help–” the receptionist splutters even as the doors slide shut and cut him off.

Merlin lets out a relieved sigh and takes a look around. The hallway is narrow and its walls are painted with a revolting shade of pale yellow that makes the whole place look vaguely ill. There are few doors, all locked no doubt, but Merlin only needs the staircase at the end of the corridor.

He doesn’t encounter anyone during his climb to the top and is grateful for it; the fewer people who see him the better, even if the illusion should muffle his features enough to make him impossible to recall.

Finally, only slightly out of breath, he arrives at the door at the top of the stairs. It’s an old, simple mechanical lock as the information had claimed, and Merlin takes out his lock pick and slots it in easily with a grace born out of practice. It takes only a couple of turns of his wrist before the door opens obediently, revealing a lovely garden the likes of which adorn every rooftop in the city.

It is clearly not as effectively planned for food production as regulations order, with the centre filled with tables and chairs. Yet at the sides delicious looking dark plums hang from some of the trees and translucent gooseberries hide behind the thorny branches of the bushes. Merlin licks his lips unconsciously and then mentally slaps himself. He is on a mission.

He hides in the darkest corner, under the shadows of the trees and tugs apart the illusion around him. Then, painstakingly, he starts the construction of a completely different one. Layer upon layer, he creates a carefully spun net of impressions and desires until he is sure that only the most skilled illusionist could hope to detect his work. He can practically feel the long phantom hair on his shoulders, and his body feels somewhat unsettled. To anyone looking he is a petite, dark haired woman, vaguely familiar but uninteresting, belonging to the background and not only because of her serving uniform.

Despite himself Merlin smiles quietly, taking pleasure in the completion of the demanding magic.

Not far away the heavy bell of the front gate chimes six times to signify the return of a hunting party. Carefully Merlin slinks around the edges of the garden to gain a view.  He can hear the first gate grinding open on the other side of the archway, and then sliding back shut, the sound echoed by the clang of the heavy bolts. Only after they fall silent does the machinery of the inner gate spring to life, opening the locks one by one. It looks impressive, but Merlin sees no reason why they couldn't just open at once – though he supposes he is hardly an expert in this kind of magic. Morgana would probably know.

From behind the doors the hunting party marches in, carrying the carcass of some kind of beast. It reminds Merlin of a twisted and stunted version of a majestic bear he had once seen in a painting.

The hunters themselves are wholly masked by their uniforms dirtied by yellow dust, looking alien with scarves tied around their heads, eyes hidden by goggles and mouths and noses covered by pollution masks. Only one from the party has drawn down her scarf and mask and lifted her goggles away from her eyes. Merlin can't quite make out her features, but he knows she is Miss Mithian Nemeth, the second in command of the hunters.

"Mithian Nemeth will take over. Sensible girl, I like her,” Uther had described her offhandedly after giving Merlin his instructions. He isn't sure if he should take that to mean she and Uther are allies; maybe he has bought her, maybe she believes in the right things. Maybe it had been only a random thought, devoid of meaning. He sighs inwardly – it’s not his job to speculate.

The party is greeted by a few bystanders but they do not dally and head towards the office – or more precisely the primary dispatch, located in the basement under the building.

The door to the garden opens, and Merlin wrenches his attention back to his surroundings. A young man and woman, dressed in the same uniform as Merlin's illusion, are walking towards the tables, pushing carts full of food and drink in front of them. Efficiently they set the tables, and not a moment later the higher-ups start to arrive – naturally not from the small staircase but from another door in the wall, which Merlin assumes must open into a lift.

Most of the people Merlin doesn't recognise. They're leaders of hunting parties, insignificant on the city's political stage. He recognises Mithian, now in casual dark trousers and a white shirt. One of the men clearly tells her something inappropriate because even Merlin can feel Mithian staring him down until he backs away, cowed. One of the other women gives Mithian an appraising slap on the back and Merlin thinks he can see why Uther might like this woman. She reminds Merlin of Morgana, if only a little – for Morgana would probably have ripped the man apart with her sharp tongue before using his bones to pick her teeth.

The leader of the hunters is last to arrive – Bayard is not exactly late, but he is definitely making an entrance, stepping up on a small platform to speak. All chatter dies for a moment as he says a couple of meaningless platitudes, quickly declaring them free to enjoy the food and drink before work. Merlin watches them settle, and slips out to join the serving staff that has now luckily grown in numbers making it easier to hide among them.

It takes him awhile to get to serve Bayard, but finally he is waved over to fill his glass. It's ridiculously easy to hide the small container of poison in his hand and pour it all in as he shields his movements with Bayard's head and his own body. Bayard doesn't even spare a glance at Merlin when he accepts the glass back, so engrossed he is in the talk with his neighbour.

"My son was just tested," he is saying proudly and Merlin’s heart clenches. Don't listen, you don’t want to hear this, he tells himself, trying to hurry away. Don't listen, stop. "Only nine and he can already enhance his hearing –"

"Are you alright?" asks the concerned voice of one of the other girls in the serving staff quietly. She gestures at Merlin's hands that are squeezing the handle of the jug so hard that his knuckles have turned white. Cursing mentally, he loosens his grip and smiles guilelessly.

"Yeah," he answers. "Almost spilled some on his coat, thought I was going to die." The nervous chuckle is not difficult to fake. This isn’t good; the less people have any memory of him the better.

"I know that feeling," the girl says. Something behind Merlin catches her attention, and she gives him an apologetic smile. "Gotta go, sorry. Don't worry too much!"

She whirls away, and Merlin breathes a sigh of relief. He needs to get out.

He has just managed to shove the jug at another man when Bayard starts coughing. Cold settles over him as he realises that he has tarried too long. Hastily drawing more illusions of stealth over himself he practically runs to the quickest escape route. Behind him someone is yelling for a healer.

Merlin grabs his satchel from the bush he hid it in and digs out his leather gloves and a rope with a grappling hook. More shouts. Merlin attaches the hook and drops to the wall that leads to a narrow alleyway. The ground is long way down, but Merlin drops as fast as he dares, practically running backwards down the wall.

By the time his feet finally hit the cobblestones he can no longer hear the commotion. When he looks up he sees nothing but the walls, the shadows of the gardens and the shimmering blue of the barrier surrounding the city. No one is peering down at him.

He can feel the worst of the tension bleeding out of himself even as he sends a pulse through the cache stone Morgana gave him. Apparently its partner stone is inside a simple mechanism in the hook, propelling it to fold in response to the signal. Merlin's engineering has always been crap and he had very much not understood Morgana's explanation beyond that, but it works, the hook falling off, and Merlin disappears, the only remaining trace of his visit the dead body of Bayard Stafford.

 

**ARTHUR I**

A loud clang makes Arthur jump in his chair violently enough that he drops the small cog from his tweezers with a similar, if not quite so loud, clang. Gwen curses. Arthur whirls around to see what happened, his old chair protesting the sharp movement with a threatening screech. Gwen never loses her patience with her work.

She is staring at the offending piece of equipment on the floor like it's personally responsible for all of her woes.

"Gwen?" he asks cautiously.

She startles guiltily and gives him an embarrassed smile, swiping some escaped strands of her wild hair away from her face.

"Sorry," she says. "It's just frustrating. I've been working on this for a year, but nothing that I do works quite like it should and I thought I finally had it but I didn't and I kinda want to throw the whole thing out of the gates and go back to doing communicators!"

She chuckles ruefully and picks the item – Arthur doesn't even know what the hell it is – up from the floor.

"Don't be stupid," he says. "You'd never forgive yourself."

She smiles, cheeks dimpling, but the slump of her shoulders doesn't disappear completely. "You're right, of course," she says.

Arthur grins. "Damn right I am!"

"The Great Arthur de Bois is never wrong, I know," Gwen agrees mockingly, and Arthur has to smother down a childish urge to stick his tongue out at her.

"Don't mock me," he says to Gwen's back, mature and dignified, as she turns to inspect the device on her worktop. She still looks defeated. Arthur sighs. He sucks at giving pep talks. "Gwen, you know you have actually made lots of progress, right? And I mean if there is anyone who can recreate computers and make them work with magic, it's you. You're one of the best engineers we have." That’s probably a bit much, judging by the look Gwen gives him over her shoulder. "Not the best, obviously. But good," he quickly adds.

"Obviously," she says, looking away, but Arthur can hear the smile in her voice. "Thanks–"

The communicator on the wall cracks to life, cutting her short. Morgana's voice, curt and serious, fills the room.

"This is an announcement to all members of staff. Please initiate protocol MQ074." Arthur feels every muscle in his body tensing. "I repeat: please initiate protocol MQ074."

Morgana's voice disappears, leaving Gwen and Arthur to stare at each other.

"Isn't that–?" Gwen starts, breaking the silence.

"The code for a screening? Yes." To his surprise he sounds emotionless despite the rush of adrenaline that has sent his pulse to the skies.

Her eyes are wide and worried and Arthur almost feels more sorry for her than for himself. "Should we get you out? We could try to get to the basement, and you could use the maintenance shaft?"

Arthur shakes his head. "They have the employee records; they would know I was missing and find me anyway. The less attention I attract, the better. I have managed it once before. It wasn't too bad." He had been almost fifteen and so nervous that he had been sure he was going to faint. Yet somehow they had pulled it off.

"But if they catch you–"

"I know perfectly well what happens if they catch me, Guinevere." She flinches at his harsh tone, but he can't quite bring himself to apologise. If the screeners realise Arthur has no magic on his own he will have to choose between a quick execution and an almost certain, slow death in exile. He isn't particularly keen on either scenario.

Without saying anything else he gets up and walks to the door, turning left towards the communication point 2.4B as per protocol MQ074. He can hear the soft rustle of Gwen’s skirt behind him and tries to feel encouraged.

xxx

Morgana looks as cool and collected as ever in her long coat and killer heels, talking to the officer – and not just any officer but Morgause Gorlois, the commander of the force, Arthur realises with a shiver – but when she looks at him Arthur can read the concern in her eyes. He tries to offer her a reassuring smile, though he suspects it ends up looking somewhat comical if the reluctant twist of Morgana's lips is anything to go by. He gives her an annoyed glare and wonders why he actually likes her.

"Commander Morgause," Morgana starts, but Morgause interrupts her.

"Just Morgause," she says with sugar dripping from her sharp tongue.

Morgana actually smiles at her and Arthur wants to gag, opting to eye the other people in the room to avoid witnessing any nauseating flirting. Not that Morgana really flirts back, ever, and for once Arthur is grateful for it.

There are five other officers in the room, all dressed implacably in their blue uniforms, not a hair out of place. Compared to them the other workers of section B, waiting near the back wall of the room with an uneasy air, seem like they escaped from a circus. Some have protective goggles, one is wearing a full body suit, several have on long and thick leather gloves, and Isolde, the manager of their section, sticks out with her purple hair. Arthur has no idea how she managed to dye it – but somehow he feels a bit of pride over their mismatched group.

Gwen tugs his sleeve to draw him away from the doorway, and Arthur goes, offering her a small smile. She smiles back and Arthur knows they're good.

"Section B," Morgause addresses them after finishing her conversation with Morgana. "This is a routine screening to check that no unwanted material –" There is metallic taste on Arthur's tongue and he realises he has bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed. "– has managed to infiltrate the population. If any of you have any concerns now is the time to speak." One of her perfectly shaped thin eyebrows rises, and she gives the workers an assessing glance. Arthur feels like her eyes look straight into – and through – his soul. Nobody so much as twitches. Morgana's cold eyes, just as scary as Morgause's, make sure of it.

After a tense moment that feels like forever but is probably more like five seconds, Morgause waves her hand. "Proceed."

Her team moves as one to start the screening. They go from person to person, quick and efficient. And finally one of them, a dark haired man who could have been good looking if his face had been graced with some sort of expression, comes for Arthur and wraps his fingers around Arthur’s wrist. It's a magical probe that is reflected back by the receivers magic;  if the person has no magic the probe doesn’t return. Arthur can feel it tearing into his body, and drawing from the power of his amulet he reaches for it, wrapping it in magic. It stutters unpleasantly for a moment – and echoes back.

The officer blinks at him in confusion – Arthur knows that the echo that returns from him is a bit distorted so he squares his jaw and meets the officer’s eyes steadily, aiming for bored. The officer drops his wrist and the slight frown disappears, his face morphing back to complete emptiness. Without as much as a twitch he moves on – and in Arthur's chest the heart that had frozen in cold anticipation resumes its beating. He looks at Morgana and gives her a smile that she returns, the set of her shoulders relaxing by the smallest of fractions.

In a moment they're all done.

"Everything seems to be in order here," Morgause says, teeth flashing. "Let us proceed to the next section?"

"Of course," Morgana agrees and strides to the door with efficiency that really shouldn't be possible in the heels she is wearing. Gwen complains about it often enough and even now she sighs jealously, and he smirks at her knowingly. He gets a sharp elbow to his side for his trouble.

The officers step out of the door Morgana has opened but Morgause herself stops to address her. As she does so her hand brushed against Arthur's arm. She freezes, eyes widening, and the whole room stops breathing as one.

There had been no probe. Arthur is sure of it. But–

"You are wearing an amulet," Morgause hisses, turning to him slowly, like a predator preparing for the kill. Arthur can read the thrill of the hunt in her eyes.

"That–" Morgana starts from somewhere behind Morgause's back, but then Morgause's hand strikes out, to Arthur's neck, and wrenches the amulet up from under his collar.

"It was my mother's," Arthur blurts. "It's a focusing stone!"

"Really?" Morgause drawls. "Take it off."

Behind her, the officers have marched back in, and all colour has fled from Morgana's face.

He hesitates, but he knows if he doesn't comply he will be taken down with force. Slowly, he complies.

Morgause smiles and suddenly Arthur is well and truly scared for the first time in his life. He finds it's not a feeling he likes.

Morgause's fingers dig into his wrist and Arthur is sure that at any second her long nails will draw blood. But apart from that he feels nothing. Of course he doesn't. Miracles don't happen in real life and Arthur has never possessed even a hint of magic on his own.

"Arrest him!"

He doesn't struggle when they force him to his knees, but he refuses to bow his head and give up his pride, to admit that he has done something wrong. His only sin is being born different – and that should not be sin at all.

"Freak," the officer that originally screened him gloats while snapping handcuffs to his wrists. "I knew there was something wrong with you."

Morgause is on him faster than Arthur even has a chance to register that she has moved.

"What was that?" Morgause bites out dangerously. "Because, Officer Cedric, that sounded very much like you failed to report an anomaly in the screening procedure."

Cedric looks like he is about to piss himself, Arthur observes in both pity and disgust.

"No, no, absolutely not, no, I wouldn't," the man stutters out, sinking to his knees. "Just a gut feeling, ma'am. But it came back normal, I swear. Please, ma'am."

Morgause sneers at him in disgust. "Get up," she snaps. "We'll deal with this later. Take the filth in."

Arthur is hauled up by two of the officers and without a word they proceed to drag him out of the door without giving him a chance to move voluntarily. He hears Morgause speaking to Morgana, but only one word catches his ear: investigation.

He can almost feel Morgana flaring like a torch – he hopes Gwen manages to stop her from doing anything stupid.

**MERLIN II**

The shadows are starting to draw long by the time Merlin arrives at Uther Pendragon’s flat situated in the fanciest district of Camelot. Not that the streets are any wider or the stone any less grey, but here a man like Uther can own the whole floor of a building alone – a rare thing in a city where every effort has been put into conserving space.

The window of the study is lit up – as it is supposed to be when Uther is waiting on Merlin to report in. Nothing seems to be out of place. In the lowest floor a young boy is shouting excitedly at his parent while they try to shush him. It's almost – well, what Merlin would imagine most people associated with words like "domestic" and "inviting".

The lift doesn't respond when Merlin sends in a small spark of magic to wake up the mechanism, which is incredibly strange considering the 99-point-something-percent reliability rate of magical technology. He tries again, but the mechanism remains as cold and unresponsive as stone. It makes Merlin just the tiniest bit cautious, enough to make him choose the narrow maintenance staircase at the back instead of the airy and well lit main one. He has nothing to lose by playing it safe, after all.

By the time he stumbles a second time because of an uneven step he is forced to admit that he might be gaining a few bruises and rather wishes he'd just gone straight up, saving himself both pain and time by doing so. He blesses Uther for choosing a building with only five floors because he actually makes it without cracking his skull or twisting his ankle.

At the top Merlin peers through the lock into the hallway. It's as empty and immaculate as ever, the cream coloured carpet somehow remaining spotless no matter how many times Merlin and others have marched over it in muddy boots. He loosens the knives in his sleeves and steps through the door.

It happens in a fraction of a second – the men strike from both sides of the door. Merlin almost manages to slash one’s throat, but misses narrowly, only nicking the collar and the skin. Too late he realises what the other guy is – the moment his hand touches Merlin's exposed skin he crumbles to the floor like a sack of grain, knives scattering away from his numb fingers and an iron cuff slotting around his wrist before he has time to even think up an illusion that could get him out of this mess.

He startles – internally, because the bloody stitch has turned his muscles into goo – when a pair of familiar looking boots enters his line of vision. Merlin generally doesn't make a habit out of recognising people by their shoes, but Morgana had happened to feel the need to point out that Merlin would have looked fabulous with these exact heels – to which Merlin had answered that he wouldn't have been caught dead wearing anything owned by Officer Cenred King. And if Cenred is involved in this, most likely so is Commander Morgause – and somewhere there lurks also the frightening possibility of the Triad.

"Mister Emrys," Cenred says slowly, rolling the name in his mouth in a way that makes Merlin's skin crawl. "My, my, aren't you quite heavily armed for a secretary?" Merlin can hear the smirk in his voice. "Lovely scapegoat for the murder of his employer, don't you think, boys? We were rather hoping for Lady Morgana herself, but you will do just fine."

He tries to lunge forward, but his body remains unresponsive and his magic is out of his reach.

xxx

Merlin comes to on the cold stone floor of a small holding cell in Camelot's military base.

"You're awake," a voice observes from behind him.

Merlin jumps into a defensive crouch despite the blinding pain in his head that seems to have replaced his brain, though he can’t quite bite back the grimace. Squinting he tries to assess the man who is now looking at him with a somewhat wary expression. To Merlin's annoyance the first insight his brain provides in the face of the man's blond hair and nicely toned body is "ridiculously good looking". What follows – prisoner, bound, and vaguely familiar looking – is somewhat more helpful.

"I’ve seen you with Morgana," the man says. "I'm Arthur, I work for her." That probably explains why he seems familiar. Merlin presses his head into his hands. It feels like the pain is trying drill its way out through his skull and there is certain haziness to his mind that suggests he has been drugged.

"Merlin," he says curtly through clenched teeth.

A hand settles on his shoulder and he jerks away. Arthur lifts his hands up in surrender but his expression is slightly annoyed.

"Fine, don't take my help," he says.

Good. Maybe he will fucking finally let Merlin to die in peace before he has to go through with the whole escape thing. Unfortunately Merlin can't keep his mouth shut. "I doubt you can help with this, unless you can somehow get rid of iron sickness." Merlin had been bound once before and he had never been that sick in his life.

Arthur's gaze flickers sharply to the band on his wrist and turns – speculative? Merlin tries to make a questioning sound but it comes out as an embarrassing groan.

"And what if I could?"

He points at the metal band around Arthur’s wrist. "I'd say you're lying. You're bound just like me.”

Arthur shrugs and glances at the band ruefully. "I'm afraid it doesn't make much difference."

Merlin stares at him dumbly. Doesn't make– "What? You can't heal with your powers bound." Something else occurs to him. "Are you simple?" he asks dubiously, and hell, he is quite positive he’s known how to keep his mouth shut for years and yet somehow suddenly the stupidest thoughts are walking straight out of it without his consent. Apparently being bound really takes away his brain function as well as his magic.

"Oh my god, you’re some kind of idiot, aren't you? Who said anything about healing?" Arthur has the gall to look appalled.

"Shut up, prat," Merlin snaps, or tries to, but it comes out as a rather pitiful whine.

Arthur's face tightens and for a moment he seems torn. Then he sighs. "Just give me your wrist alright? You're obviously in a lot of pain and not thinking clearly."

He sits down and reaches for Merlin's bound hand and suddenly too tired to resist Merlin lets him examine it. "At least I hope you're not usually this dim," Arthur adds and Merlin glares.

Arthur examines the band quietly, until he seems to find what he is looking for, then smiles briefly. Merlin is half convinced he is some sort of lunatic. Morgana has always been fond of strange people with even stranger stories, which possibly also explains her friendship with Merlin.

Arthur produces a small piece of some sort of dark metal from inside the seam of his jacket. It's a nice trick for an everyday bloke, Merlin supposes, but not a terribly useful one. Arthur slots the metal under the band around Merlin's skin.

"You do know that these things only open with an authorised magical signature and–" Merlin stops. The nausea is gone. He stares at Arthur in astonishment.

"You were saying?" Arthur asks innocently, an intolerably smug smirk playing on his lips. "I still need to get it off though so don't even try to use your magic yet."

Merlin nods dumbly and Arthur bends back down to fiddle with Merlin's band. He can feel Arthur's breath on his skin, but he very determinedly doesn't pay the sensation any mind. The air around them is heavy with their silence and the only sounds are their breaths and Merlin's rapid heartbeat.

Something clicks, and Merlin stares in disbelief at the open band that Arthur is carefully removing from his wrist.

"How?" he breathes out quietly, afraid that a louder noise will somehow break the spell.

"Enchanted magnet and lots of skill," Arthur answers, equally quiet yet somehow managing to sound intolerably smug.

"You–" Merlin starts and frowns. "Why haven't you removed yours?"

"As I said–" he is interrupted by a muffled voice, coming from somewhere outside. Quickly Merlin shoves the discarded band under a chair and lifts its impression, weaving it around his wrist instead. Arthur startles visibly as the illusion appears, before his expression changes to thoughtful.

"Handy trick," he remarks. Then, "Morgana better appreciate me for saving her boyfriend's arse."

Merlin stares incredulously for a second before trying to find any words to describe how wrong Arthur’s suggestion is. He isn’t very successful as what comes out of his mouth is, "What? No! I'm not–"

Two sets of steps echo outside the door, snapping them both into instant silence. Arthur doesn't look convinced in the slightest, and Merlin curses him vehemently in his mind.

Two people appear in the hallway outside their cell. The first is none other than Morgause herself, but the other, a ridiculously handsome dark man in a healer’s uniform, Merlin doesn't recognise.

"Arthur," Morgause says pleasantly and Arthur glares at her so venomously that Merlin has to suppress a giggle. It's not exactly funny, but he’s had a long day.

Morgause doesn't seem to find Arthur amusing because her eyes narrow. "This is Dr. Lancelot du Lac. He will observe the second test and determine if there are any medical reasons that caused us to be unable to detect your magic." She opens the door. "Out," she snaps at Arthur while eyeing Merlin suspiciously. Merlin smiles at her with his best false cheerfulness.

Arthur looks reluctant to go and if he really is giftless Merlin can’t blame him. Arthur had said that being bound didn't make much difference to him – and Merlin feels strangely cold at the thought of his death. He owes him a debt, he supposes, and maybe, just maybe, there is something he can do to repay that.

Morgause grabs Arthur's arm and hauls him out, and Merlin has to be bite back the instinct to step in. Not yet. The door slams shut, but Morgause doesn't seem to be going anywhere, shoving Arthur down. He drops to his knees with a grunt, obviously surprised, yet he refuses to lower his head.

With interest Merlin notes how the healer's brow furrows. "I'm sure that is not necessary, Commander," he comments tightly and drops down to Arthur's level. Arthur's face is mostly turned away from Merlin so he can't see his expression, but his body is so still it could be carved out of stone.

The healer quietly says something Merlin fails to catch and Arthur nods mutely. The iron band lets out an empty clang as it hits the floor; Arthur doesn't react to the freedom from the constraint at all and any hope Merlin might have had shrinks and disappears.

Still crouching in front of Arthur the healer speaks, "There’s nothing physically wrong with him as far as I can feel. Do your thing, Commander." His distaste is subtle, hidden behind a polite mask, but Merlin knows illusions and lies when he sees them.

Morgause apparently doesn't, or at least pretends so, for she simply yanks Arthur back up. Merlin takes in a deep breath and starts to weave his illusion. There is nothing trickier than to fool magic without the aid of other senses – Merlin tends to rely on visuals to strengthen everything he does. Technically all he has to do is to use Morgause's own sensory memory against her, to make it think it’s experiencing something it’s familiar with.

"Ready." It's a statement. Merlin wants to say no, contemplates just leaving it. Arthur nods.

Morgause touches Arthur and Merlin hauls his web around Arthur and Morgause.

For a moment his mind is hazy with the release of his concentration, but he is not gone enough to fail to notice, with interest and a bit of alarm, that Arthur startles slightly.

A second later Morgause's eyes widen slightly and her mouth gains an unhappy tilt.

"Clear," she says and Merlin allows himself a tired smirk. "But I require further investigation on this. I got nothing from you earlier."

Arthur doesn't say anything but the healer clears his throat and addresses Arthur. "The amulet you wear, the focusing stone? Do you wear it because your magic acts irregularly?"

Arthur's head turns slowly towards the healer. Merlin wants to shout at him to agree.

"Yes," Arthur says, steady and unconcerned for all the world to see. He should have been a politician. Or an actor.

"That would probably explain why you got a false negative," the healer says to Morgause who looks like someone has forced a lemon down her throat. "Some people with minor, unstable magical talent could theoretically test negative when their magic refuses to cooperate. With your permission I can take care of further examinations. Clearly he is not magicless–" his eyes find Merlin's, who freezes. There is no way this man could know what he had done. He is almost certain that even Arthur doesn’t know that.

"Yes, yes, fine," Morgause says, removing the deadlock of her fingers from Arthur's arm. "You're free to go, Mr. de Bois. Apologies for any inconvenience." Merlin would have bet good money that she couldn't have managed to sound more insincere even if she had tried.

"No harm done," Arthur says, voice dry. "You were just doing your job, I understand."

Morgause's smile is all teeth as she turns to lead Arthur away. Arthur gives him a last glance, questioning, and Merlin nods with a smile, silently willing him to go. Arthur goes, and Merlin is glad to be rid of the distraction, ignoring the small bit of warmth fluttering in his chest.

The healer lingers for a heartbeat longer than is necessary before trailing after them. Lancelot du Lac, Morgause had introduced him. Merlin has a feeling it's a name he could use in the future.

**ARTHUR II**

Arthur is still dazed when he is escorted to the lobby of the station – of all the scenarios that had entered his head actually passing the test had never once crossed his mind. Morgana razing down the whole building alone with a gun had sounded much more credible. He has no idea what happened, but there is no question that Merlin had something to do with it.

A flurry of dark hair appears with a delighted squeal and suddenly he has his arms full of Gwen. He stumbles, and they both almost topple over to make a closer acquaintance with the stone floor, but Arthur's good reflexes and balance manage to save them.

Gwen's babbling. "They wouldn't let me see you. I was so worried, I hate you so much – or I would have if you had died, hell, I'm glad you're okay!" She draws back from his neck, eyes widening. "Not that there was any reason why you shouldn't have gotten out, but it was just rather dramatic, and well, silly me for worrying!"

Her smile is bright, but the effort she puts into it is quite obvious to Arthur. Her eyes dart somewhere behind Arthur's shoulder. He turns, Gwen's arm still around him and is not surprised to find Morgause staring at them in annoyance.

"Was there something else?" Arthur asks.

"Please keep your hands to yourself while you're in my station?" It sounds almost polite.

Gwen basically jumps away from Arthur, blushing furiously, and stammers an apology and something that sounds like "Arthurislikeabrothertome, itsnotlikethat!"

It never has been and never will be – and okay Arthur had that horrible crush on Gwen when he was twelve, but then he had also had that really brief period where he thought he was in love with Morgana, which should be taken as a proof that his twelve-year-old self had been somewhat confused and definitely not to be trusted with things like feelings and sexual attraction.

"Don't worry, we’re leaving," he says. "As soon as you give me my mother's focusing stone back."

"Of course. If you’ll follow me."

xxx

He signs some papers, tries not to glare at Morgause, and after half an hour of meaningless prancing around he finally has the stone back in his hands. The guard at the door wishes them a pleasant afternoon of all the things. Arthur nods at him briskly, refraining from saying that it would have been much more pleasant if he hadn’t been detained in the first place. Gwen doesn’t even seem to notice the man. There is a small frown on her brow and she keeps tangling and untangling her fingers on the frayed edges of her colourful scarf.

Carefully he nudges her with his elbow and she startles out of her thoughts, rolling her eyes at him. It looks a bit half-hearted though.

"Gwen,” he starts carefully. “Where’s Morgana?"

He knows Morgana can take care of herself, but the fact that she isn't here is strange. He hopes she hasn’t gotten into any trouble because of him.

Gwen bites her lip and Arthur's heart sinks.

"It's her father," she says, quiet. "She wanted to come and tear the whole place down, she really did, but– A word came. Her father was assassinated."

The words are so bizarre that they take a moment to register before their whole meaning becomes worryingly clear. "Where is she?"

Gwen nods, biting her lip. "At his office, talking to his advisers.” Her office and her advisers now, Arthur supposes. “Morgana gave me the service car, it’s at the back.”

She waves her hand, but Arthur fails to determine any specific direction from the movement. Despite the heavy tiredness in his bones it makes him smile wryly. “I think it’s best if you lead the way.”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously at him, but leads him left, which, Arthur is positive, is not where she was gesturing, yet surely enough the old service car is waiting for them around the corner.

“Let me drive?” His amulet’s magic loves cars almost as much as Arthur himself does. He wishes he could work on them instead of Morgana’s pet projects, but she always shoots his requests for a transfer down. He wishes he could believe it’s because she thinks he is the best, but he suspects she just wants to have Gwen keeping an eye on him.

“Sure.” She stops to fiddle the keystone out of her belt and tosses it to Arthur.

xxx

Arthur has never visited the office of Uther Pendragon. He’d met the man a couple of times; his mother had worked for him when he had been young and she still alive and he had visited Morgana there a few times. But there is definitely no personal sense of loss. Morgana loved her father though, despite their infamous disagreements, and Arthur feels a vague sense of guilt over keeping Gwen away from her. He harbours no illusions that he could have offered her any comfort she wouldn’t have refused.

Not that she really seems to be in the need of comfort now, sitting behind the large wooden desk of the office, growling at the officials surrounding her. The moment she sees Gwen and Arthur she springs up from her chair, a bit faster than is quite appropriate, but catches herself after one step that looks almost like she had considered running.

“Get out,” she says, stopping to level the officials with a cold look. “We’ll settle these matters later.”

“But Miss Pendragon!” an older woman gasps in protest, but her younger companion shushes her quiet.

“We’ll be in contact,” he says, but Morgana ignores him completely in favour of scanning Arthur thoroughly, making him feel uncomfortably naked.

“I’m alright,” he says. Morgana’s eyes stop somewhere near his left shoulder.  

A door opens and closes as the officials walk out, cutting off their furious whispering, and Morgana’s shoulders slump by the smallest of fractions. Gwen doesn’t hesitate, but marches up to her and wraps her arms around Morgana’s neck.

For a second Morgana remains frozen, but then her head drops on Gwen’s shoulder with a small shuddering breath that sounds like a breaking glass statue. Arthur looks away and stares at the wall. It has wooden panels. Expensive. Morgana doesn’t start sobbing like she did when her mother died when she was nine, and Arthur is selfishly glad.

“Arthur,” Morgana whispers, and he looks at them reluctantly. The light from the window behind them reduces Morgana’s face into a shadow. “Come here, idiot,” she says, voice full of pained fondness that Arthur can’t quite deal with.

“Fuck you too, Morgs.” She chuckles and draws back from Gwen’s hold to walk up to Arthur. He can see her face now and her cheeks are dry – he pretends not to notice the glint of unshed, bitten-back tears in her eyes.

“I’m glad you got out,” she says and reaches out to ruffle his hair, which Arthur unsuccessfully tries to duck. “But how did you get out?” she asks suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at Gwen. “You didn’t break him out, right?”

“No!” Gwen exclaims. She smiles sheepishly when she realises how scandalised she sounds. “They let him go.” Both of them turn to stare at Arthur.

He shrugs awkwardly. “I don’t exactly know what happened,” he admits. “Morgana, do you know a man named Merlin?”

To his surprise he can just catch Morgana biting her lip before she looks away and when she answers her tone is cautious. “I do. He worked for Uther.”

Normally Arthur would poke and prod. Now he doesn’t want to risk an attack on her fragile front for fear that he might cut them both, so he simply explains what he can. “He was in the cell with me. He was bound, obviously, so I helped him out of the iron. He mentioned he knew you and seemed to be an illusionist of some kind. I don’t really know, but he must have done something because my follow up test came up positive.”

Gwen shakes her head at him slowly, like she can’t quite believe what she is hearing.

“Merlin is a talented man,” Morgana agrees, but her voice is tight. “But there is no way Morgause let you go just like that.”

Arthur shrugs again. He supposes it’s a bit strange. “The doctor promised to do the follow up, which I imagine saved me. He told her he suspected that my magic was simply unstable.” He pauses to consider the impression he got from Lancelot. “I don’t think he would give me up even if he knew for sure.”

“But you can’t know that for sure,” Gwen points out. Her fingers play nervously with the ends of her hair, pulling out tangles.

“Gwen’s right, but we’ll have to deal with it when it comes.” Morgana slips down to sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk with a sigh. “Sit down, you two, please. There is something else we need to talk about now.”

Gwen moves first, sitting in the chair next to Morgana. Her whole presence radiates support in a way Arthur has never seen anyone else achieve, at least not without a hint of pity. He sits down as well, turning his chair to face Morgana instead of the massive desk, which still manages to loom threateningly at the edge of his vision. He suspects Uther Pendragon didn't want his visitors feeling too relaxed, and the hard, ascetically designed chair would have been enough to draw anyone out of their comfort zone. He shifts awkwardly trying to find a more pleasant position but soon abandons the attempt as futile. The chair is clearly meant to be used for torture.

They sit in a silence for a while, Morgana focused on studying the flawless paint of her nails. Gwen doesn't show a hint of impatience but Arthur would rather not spend the whole day sitting in awkward silence.

"Well?" he drawls.

Morgana looks at him with wide eyes, looking startlingly young. If Arthur didn't know better he would have thought she was afraid of speaking. She clears her throat, preparing to finally speak, but before she can voice whatever is troubling her there is a knock on the door.

"I told you I'm not to be disturbed!" Morgana snaps loudly.

Nobody answers but the door handle moves and the door slides open torturously slowly. After an eternity of tense waiting it's finally wide open, revealing only an empty hallway. Gwen stands up warily and Arthur looks around for anything that he could use as a weapon, but the tense line of Morgana's jaw eases with some apparent reluctant amusement.

"Close the door, will you Merlin?"

Arthur almost bites his tongue in surprise but manages to keep his face blank and maintain his dignity as he carefully observes the empty space in front of them. The door closes. Arthur isn’t sure, but for a second he thinks he sees something in the air, a shadow or a ripple, but it slips away from the grasp of his mind, silent and insubstantial like the air itself.

Morgana's eyes follow something invisible away from the door and Arthur tries to force his eyes to follow her gaze – and then suddenly Merlin is standing there. He opens his mouth to gloat about managing to see through Merlin's illusion, a smug smirk tugging his lips, but before he can actually say anything he notices Gwen. She has grabbed a heavy book from the table and is holding it up threateningly, clearly able to see Merlin.

Merlin holds his hands up. "Sorry," he says, but it lacks any real sincerity. "Morgana, is he–?"

"Dead? Yes."

Merlin nods tiredly.

"My condolences."

Morgana shakes her head, rejecting the platitude. "Tell me what you know," she says instead.

Merlin’s gaze flickers questioningly over Gwen and Arthur and for the shortest of moments Morgana falters, unsure of her answer. Her hesitance tastes like bitter betrayal on Arthur’s tongue. Morgana and Gwen are his family, the holders of his implicit trust that he always thought mutual.

But then Morgana nods, stopping the sting from turning into a festering wound.

“The time for secrets is over, I think,” she says.

Her nails draw invisible circles on the surface of the table. She is nervous, Arthur realises, and glances at Gwen who seems to be scrutinizing Morgana with some concern.

“There isn’t much to tell, really. I was returning to report in from my mission to eliminate Bayard Stafford–” Morgana doesn’t look surprised, though Gwen’s quiet gasp makes her squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. “–last evening around ten o’clock. The lift to the apartment of Mr. Pendragon was not working so as a precaution I took the maintenance staircase, but was taken down by Cenred and two other men. They said I would make a perfect scapegoat, assumedly for Mr. Pendragon's murder. I'm afraid I didn’t learn anything useful before escaping.”

It’s a useless account if Arthur has ever heard one. “You left out the part where I saved your arse,” Arthur can’t help muttering petulantly. Who knows what else Merlin is not saying?

“My apologies, I didn't realise stroking your ego was an important part of the account,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “And I seem to remember having performed some rather challenging magic to get your arse saved. So I’d say we are even.”

Arthur can’t exactly deny that – hell, he knows he owes Merlin big time – but he still doesn't trust him.

Luckily Gwen, who is perfect, speaks up and saves Arthur from having to answer, "How did you manage to save him?"

"Illusion," Merlin answers with a shrug, so full of disinterest that Arthur has to wonder if that isn’t an illusion as well, if any emotion rolling off Merlin is actually true.

Gwen looks at Merlin like she expects him to continue, leaning slightly forwards in her eagerness. Merlin doesn't continue – Arthur never expected him to – and the curiosity in Gwen's eyes dims to disappointment.

"Merlin," Morgana chides.

Merlin smiles wryly and slouches down on the last free chair in front of the table. "Sorry."

Morgana ignores him and turns to look at Arthur. "Arthur, Gwen, before we start talking I need you to understand that if you don't want to get involved now is your chance to walk out."

Gwen shakes her head even before Morgana is finished and Arthur, though shocked, wholeheartedly agrees – they’re already involved in this web of deception. His whole existence is illegal, Gwen has helped to hide him for years, and he has just helped Merlin escape from custody.

"Morgana," he says firmly. "Please stop insulting us and fill us in on what the hell is going on."

Morgana takes a deep breath, her eyes fluttering closed for the second it takes her to find her words. "Uther was working on abolishing some of the laws governing the persecution of non-magical people. But though he managed to persuade most of the council leaders about the need to review the laws the Triad refused to hear a word about it. Since the council wasn't unanimous by the Triad’s laws they did not have to accept the proposition." Morgana looks briefly at Merlin, something passing between them. "So," Morgana continues. "So. Ah – Uther had the two opposing members, Aulfric Sidhe and Bayard Stafford, assassinated."

"He hired Merlin to do it, didn't he?" Arthur asks sharply, even though Merlin had pretty much admitted that much earlier. He is not truly surprised either – he has lived in the shadow of his magiclessness too long to harbour any delusions about the true nature of Camelot: she is no fair and gentle lady – her whispers may sound sweet at first, but her heart is rotten to the core.

“Merlin worked for Uther long before that,” Morgana says.

Arthur glances at him and finds Merlin staring at him with dark, assessing eyes. Arthur meets his gaze squarely, and for a moment a fleeting smile plays at the edges of Merlin’s mouth. His face is not cruel – it’s young and tired, and it shouldn’t belong to a person who makes his living by killing people.

Gwen stands up, her skirts rustling loudly. Her face is pinched.

“It’s not right! Morgana, _they had children_ ,” she says, her voice a pitch higher than normal. “Tell me you had nothing to do with this!” Her voice rises at the end, and Arthur is a little taken aback by the force of her outburst even if he agrees with it.

Morgana looks at her for a moment, and Arthur thinks that somewhere deep inside her something is breaking and hardening.

“Of course I did,” Morgana says, cool and distant. “They weren’t good men. That might not make it alright, but it does make it an acceptable sacrifice.”

Gwen stares at her, a fire kindling in her brown eyes. “Like the persecution of the magicless is an acceptable sacrifice for our existence?” She gestures at Arthur. “His death would be for the greater good, wouldn’t it? The magicless cannot contribute to our society, they hinder the existence of us all by using our resources. Tell me how this is any different?”

Arthur isn’t idealistic enough to think that Camelot could be built anew with clean hands, and yet Gwen is right – they have to try to better than the Triad, jaded to the world by the grace of their immortality. There are some lines you cannot uncross.

Morgana looks angry now as well. “We are not here to be nice, Gwen! The nice get eaten alive before they accomplish anything, before they can even start the change! What were the lives of two old men compared to the lives of the ten thousand people killed in the purge, the hundreds of teenagers killed since then, the hundreds and thousands that will die in the future?” She pauses and stands up, slow and precise like a predator preparing for a leap. “They were nothing, Gwen.”

Arthur glances at Merlin, whose brow settles into an unhappy frown at Morgana’s words but soothes over immediately when he notices Arthur watching.

“They were people,” Gwen says, but she is visibly deflated. Yet her next words are no less powerful for it. “And I refuse to forget that.”

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief as Gwen sits down instead of marching out and opens his mouth to agree, but Merlin is faster.

“She’s right, you know.”

Morgana sighs and glances at Arthur questioningly. He nods at her calmly.

“Of course you would agree with them as well,” she says to him, voice laced with both annoyance and reluctant fondness. “You and Gwen were always too noble for your own good.”

Arthur just lifts an eyebrow. Morgana has always been a sore loser.

She walks around the large desk, looks down at the pile of papers on it.

“Get out,” she says. “I have work to do.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Merlin mutters under his breath, and Arthur bites down a smile.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Since you can’t really go home, Merlin, being a wanted criminal and all, you’re going to stay with Arthur for a while.”

“What?!” They both say at the same time, whirling towards Morgana, who just smiles sweetly at them.

Gwen has the audacity to giggle.

**MERLIN III**

Merlin is not sure how he will survive this. Arthur’s flat is a standard single. Small. Claustrophobic. Meant for one person, bed in one corner, kitchen counters in the other, and with a bathroom barely large enough for turning around.

He needs his space and his privacy to be able to completely discard the half-truths he builds around himself during the day. He wryly wonders what Arthur would do if he tried to hide under the faded rug hanging on the wall. It depicts some sort of grand battle, fought in a long forgotten time of swords and shields.

“You’re sleeping on the floor,” Arthur says without looking at Merlin, bent over a small – everything in this flat is small – drawer next to the bed.

Merlin shrugs, though Arthur can’t see it. “I didn’t exactly think you were gentleman enough to give me your bed.”

Arthur lifts his head enough to scowl darkly at him. “I’ll have you know that I am a perfect gentleman. But alas–” He gives Merlin an overt once over, gaze lingering on his crotch in a way that really shouldn’t make Merlin’s face burn as it does. “You’re no lady.”

Merlin reaches to bend the perceptions just a little, to hide his embarrassment, but stops. This, for better or worse, will be his sanctuary for the foreseeable future, and he cannot exhaust himself over petty deceptions done for the sake of his pride.

“You seemed much nicer when we were locked up,” he says, trying to mask his embarrassment with annoyance. The small window doesn’t let much light in, and Arthur hasn’t turned the light on – he doesn’t think Arthur can see his blush.

“Paid off, didn’t it?” Arthur points out.

Merlin gives him the darkest look he can manage to muster, regretfully wasted as Arthur bends over to peer into his fridge. The movement stretches his trousers deliciously, revealing the curve of his lovely firm arse. Pained, Merlin covers his eyes with his arm. He doesn’t do people who know his real identity. He doesn’t do complications, full stop, and Arthur has all the potential to become one fucking huge complication.

When he removes his hand he finds Arthur squinting at him, sandwich in his mouth.

“What?” he snaps.

Arthur chews his bite down exaggeratingly slowly before answering.

“You kill people for living, but you told Morgana that Gwen was right. Why?”

It’s not quite the question Merlin expected, if only because Arthur has one crucial fact that Merlin clings to as his lifeline wrong. “I’m not an assassin. Not often. I was whatever Mr. Pendragon needed me to be – PA, spy, bodyguard; anything. Despite what the last few days suggest –” He chuckles hollowly, an echo of the emptiness he feels more keenly with every kill. “– assassinations are not actually standard practice in Camelot’s politics.”

Arthur scrutinises him for a moment and puts the sandwich down. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“I don’t like it, alright?” he says, dead tired. “It’s not something anyone should decide to order or to carry out lightly.”

“Why did you do it then?”

Such a simple, short question, and yet it manages to convey naivety worth years. Because he believed it was necessary? He had believed. He had, and still does, believe that the laws are wrong. But it’s a passionless belief, a meaningless opinion that doesn’t matter, because the last time something Merlin wanted mattered was in a time long before Uther Pendragon had bought his loyalty. The black hole in his heart stirs full of bitterness. _Do you think I had any choice?_ He doesn’t say that either, choosing to go and inspect Arthur’s fridge instead.

“You can’t ignore me,” Arthur says, sounding mildly surprised that Merlin is even trying.

There is a second sandwich in the fridge, though little else, and Merlin grabs it without asking for permission. “Watch me,” he says without looking at Arthur, and goes to curl into a corner with the blankets and pillow Arthur had digged out of the closet.

When he sneaks a look Arthur seems to be fighting between laughter and outrage. It could be worse, Merlin supposes, and focuses on his meal. It’s quite a nice sandwich, filled with greens and dressing. There is no meat, but it’s no surprise; a worker like Arthur wouldn’t be able to afford any outside the small weekly communal portions anyway.

Arthur disappears after a shower, saying he is going to meet Gwen at work and get some food. Merlin could draw up an illusion and go out as well – he could pretend to be Arthur's lover or maybe his whore leaving the flat after steamy sex – but since Arthur is gone and the bed empty Merlin decides to seize the moment instead and curls onto the bed, drawing the blankets over his head. As he burrows into the pillow he decidedly doesn't think that the sheets smell nice. He is simply making himself comfortable.

xxx

Merlin is startled awake from a deep sleep by a figure hovering over him and instinctively he yanks up a quick and crude illusion of a striking threat that sends the figure stumbling backwards with a high-pitched curse. Merlin's fingers curl around the hilt of the knife on his calf before his eyes and sleep-addled brain catch up with him.

Arthur is on his arse on the floor, glaring at Merlin in a positively murderous fashion.

“Umm,” Merlin tries, voice scratchy. “Sorry?”

“Sorry?” Arthur repeats, but his glare softens, his expression morphing into something closely resembling the petulant frown of a child. Merlin kind of wants to ruffle his hair. Which is not okay, he reminds himself sternly.

“Yes, sorry,” he repeats and runs his hand through his hair. He needs a shower.

Arthur’s eyes follow the movement for a second before he stands up carefully with a grace that really can’t be innate.

“That better be sorry for both messing with my head and stealing my bed,” he says.

Merlin frowns at him, still trying to get his mind up to its normal speed.

“Does seeing me sleep in your bed mess with your head?” And damn it all if that doesn’t sound flirty when he means it completely innocently. _Keep telling yourself that, Emrys,_ an extremely annoying voice that sounds alarmingly like Morgana says inside his head.

Although Merlin could swear Arthur blushes a little and he can’t help the small part of him that hums happily with pleasure at the thought.

“I meant the part where your stupid magic made me hallucinate,” Arthur says sharply and the small pleased part inside Merlin shrinks – though it doesn’t disappear entirely.

“It doesn’t make you hallucinate. It’s an illusion,” he says and forces himself to get out of the bed. Bad move, because now he is standing far too close to Arthur’s face and all he really wants to do is to hide behind an illusion.

Hallucination. How ridiculous. “Like that would make any sense whatsoever,” he mutters and quickly pushes past Arthur towards the bathroom door. He has almost managed his escape, hand on the door handle when Arthur decides to ruin it.

“Wait a sec,” he says. “Morgana sent a message. The new councillors will be appointed in the Hall tomorrow. We are to meet her at the office before midday.”

“Good for her,” Merlin mutters, sliding past the door.

“You don’t actually get a choice, Merlin,” Arthur’s muffled voice says from the other side of the now closed door. It’s not like Merlin expected a choice. He works for Morgana now, after all.

xxx

“Are you serious?” Merlin asks at the same time as Arthur barks, “Absolutely not!”

Morgana smirks at them from behind Mr. Pendragon’s old desk. Whatever tiredness had shown on her face the day before has now disappeared. The dark emerald dress makes her look more dangerous than ever. He suspects he has about as much chance to change her mind as to bring Mr. Pendragon back from the dead but he really doesn’t see the point of her scheme.

“I don’t have to be anyone’s plus one!” he points out, a tad desperately but he tries to cover it up with the slightest tint of reasonableness. What Morgana doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

Unfortunately, Morgana has never been terribly good at reasonable. “It’s the easiest way. Nobody will check your identity too carefully.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to fool them. It’s much harder to pretend to be a girl, damn it!”

Arthur shifts uneasily beside him, shooting Merlin a look he can’t quite decipher, but Morgana’s smirk only turns smugger if such a thing is possible.

“That won’t be a problem,” she says, and Merlin’s stomach sinks with the knowledge that he has made a terrible mistake. “Arthur is gay.”

“Bi, thank you very much,” Arthur mutters under his breath. Morgana ignores him cheerfully.

“But if I’m protecting you shouldn’t I be your date?” Merlin tries. It would make sense.

“I don’t date,” Morgana points out, tapping the desk with her sharp nails. “Nor do I bring dates. It would draw too much attention.”

Merlin sighs in defeat and Arthur gives him a betrayed look. Merlin isn’t actually sure why he is protesting quite so much. It’s not like he hasn’t done much worse. He suspects his reluctance is mostly because he’s actually attracted to Arthur and he really doesn’t need the complication of those feelings. Though based on the vehemence with which Arthur railed against Morgana’s idea Merlin really doesn’t have to worry that the attraction is mutual. Maybe he even has someone he would have liked to bring.

“Gwen!” Arthur suddenly exclaims in triumph. “He could be Gwen’s date!” He looks at Morgana with eyes shining in challenge, the sharp line of his jaw tilted upwards, and manages to look so achingly beautiful that Merlin has to look away to bury the thought, together with the small flash of illogical hurt that Arthur’s reluctance evokes.

Morgana shakes her head. “Gwen is bringing Gwaine.”

Arthur’s eyes widen comically and he seems very much at a loss before managing an incredulous: “Gwaine – but, she – him – she turned him down!”

“Yes,” Morgana agrees patiently, and Merlin thinks he is probably missing something fairly big here. “But I need Gwaine there as well. He has worked with us for quite some time, and his –” Morgana hums thoughtfully, searching for the right word, “– people skills could turn out to be invaluable.”

Merlin frowns. He had thought he knew everyone working in the Pendragons’ inner circle. Apparently not.

“I can’t believe you,” Arthur says, averting his eyes from Morgana’s after what appears to be a brief staring contest. Their friendship has clearly cultivated the same stubborn streak in both of them.

Arthur stands up from his chair. “Fine,” he says to Morgana and then looks at Merlin impatiently.

Merlin doesn’t move right away, raising an eyebrow at Arthur. “How nice of you to agree for both of us,” he points out.

Arthur’s mouth acquires a fascinating pinch – Merlin suspects he is trying to bite his lip discreetly – and Morgana waves her hand dismissively at them. Merlin finds himself a bit unnerved by how perfectly she has adapted into her new role as a Very Important Person, especially when she says, “It’s not like you’ll say no anyway.”

“I could.”

“Will you?”

Merlin resists the temptation to scowl at her and says: “Not this time.” But he could.

**ARTHUR III**

It’s almost nauseating watching Merlin work his magic. He tells Arthur not to look and to leave him in peace, and it’s not like Arthur means to stare – and yet his eyes refuse to move away. Merlin’s eyes seem to glow faintly with golden light under his half-closed eyelids, and the details of his body become so sharp that Arthur thinks he could count Merlin’s every eyelash – but at the same time the pieces refuse to come together, leaving Arthur unable to work out the change before it’s complete.

Merlin both looks and doesn’t look different – his build is much the same, but his ears are smaller, his hair is a longer, stylistic mess, and there is a ruffle framing his cheekbones which seems a bit less prominent than just moments before. It’s almost disappointing in its subtlety; worryingly so, Arthur thinks.

“You still look like you,” he says.

“That’s because you know it’s me,” Merlin answers, too busy inspecting his still unchanged clothing to even look at Arthur.

Arthur crosses his arms and huffs in annoyance. “I’m going to say I told you so when someone recognises you.”

“Fantastic.” Merlin’s voice is completely devoid of concern, grating on Arthur’s already tightly wound nerves. He could at least grant Arthur the courtesy of acknowledging his concerns.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Morgana interrupts, just as unconcerned as Merlin.

Arthur scowls at them. “We’ll all end up dead if you’re wrong.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, lifting his eyes to meet Arthur’s. The naked tiredness in them is startling. “You need to trust us to know our job.”

“Everybody makes mistakes, _Mer_ lin.” The name falls from his lips with mocking familiarity.

“For fuck’s sake,” Morgana huffs, but Merlin blinks at him blandly before his lips twitch into a strange, annoyed smile.

“I am aware. In this case you’re making a mistake by being a twat.”

Arthur can’t quite believe he has heard correctly, but Morgana’s laugh makes it pretty clear that he has.

“I knew there was a reason why I’ve always loved you,” she says to Merlin, voice breathless with laughter. Merlin shrugs, but smiles.

Arthur tries to find something suitably scathing to say. “You–!” he starts, left stuttering by the extent of their utter childishness. “No – you know what? I’m not going to lower myself to your level. I’m going to find Gwen.”

xxx

As it happens, Gwen and Gwaine are indeed waiting for them downstairs. They look stunning together, both beautiful in their own right. Taking in Gwaine’s long legs and his ever perfect shiny dark hair that is just begging to be petted he almost regrets turning him down once upon a time. But Arthur wasn’t and isn’t particularly keen on flings and commitment was definitely not something Gwaine had been offering. It might have hurt his pride a little when Gwaine had just shrugged his rejection off and turned his attention to Gwen – who had turned him down just as firmly despite being beyond flustered.

Now Gwen’s smile is one of tolerant amusement. Maybe after a certain quota of Gwaine’s flirting one starts building immunity. He’ll have to ask Gwen later.

Gwaine spots him first and flashes him a smile that is about sixty percent pure sex, thirty percent genuine joy and ten percent simple aesthetic. It should be annoying, but Gwaine also has a knack for knowing when playful flirting is still welcome and when he should leave someone well and truly alone. He suspects Gwaine would deny this to his dying breath, though he doesn’t know him quite well enough to be sure.

Gwen spots him as well and beams at him affectionately.

“Hey,” she greets him and steps forward to give him a brief hug. “Are we leaving soon?”

He shrugs. “As soon as Morgana and Merlin decide they are ready to grace us with their presence, I’d imagine.”

Gwen gives him an odd look as she steps away, but Arthur ignores it in favour of giving Gwaine a manly handshake.

“Good to see you again, mate,” Gwaine says with a wink. “Looking even better than I remembered.”

“Gwaine!” Gwen says, rolling her eyes and cutting off Arthur’s ambiguous, “You too, mate.”

“Incorrigible,” she mouths and Arthur has to cough to hide his snicker.

“Worry not, fair lady,” Gwaine says and bows at Gwen with an exaggerated flourish. “My heart belongs to you and you alone.”

Gwen giggles and this time it’s Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes.

“And yet sadly your soul belongs to me,” Morgana announces as she sweeps down the stairs, Merlin trailing after her.  “Please don’t embarrass poor Gwen too badly.” Gwen nods enthusiastically.

Gwaine clutches his hand to his chest, mock hurt. “I would never!”

“Of course not,” Morgana agrees. “Just remember this is work and not fun, as unfortunate as that is.”

“I don’t see why those two should be exclusive,” Gwaine says, giving Merlin a speculative look that morphs into a seductive smile. “You must be Merlin? Morgana forgot to mention what a breathtaking beauty you are!”

Merlin blushes briefly before something shifts the tiniest of amounts and as if by magic – definitely by magic – Merlin looks completely collected again and is giving Gwaine a kind but distant smile.

When it becomes apparent Merlin plans to stay quiet Arthur clears his throat. “Gwaine, meet Merlin, _my date_.”

It comes out somewhat more pronounced than he meant it to but he supposes it’s not something anyone would pay attention to. “Merlin, this is Gwaine, an incurable flirt and, rumour has it, a decent gardener.”

“Decent? I’ll have you know my apples are the best you can find in Camelot!” Probably true, Arthur has to concede, but only quietly inside his own mind.

“I notice you aren’t denying the part about being a flirt,” Merlin observes as he reaches out to shake Gwaine’s hand.

Gwaine takes it with a shrug. “I don’t make a habit out of denying the truth,” he says with a crooked grin, fingers lingering rather suggestively – and inappropriately – over Merlin’s.

Merlin laughs. It’s a low, warm sound, with a quiet note of kind amusement, but Arthur doesn’t think it’s flirtatious, because Merlin simply draws away and says, “It’s not a habit anyone should particularly cultivate. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, the pleasure is mine, pixie.”

“Work, Gwaine,” Morgana says. Gwaine spreads his arms at her in feigned confusion.

Merlin takes the chance to make his way to Arthur’s side, which, Arthur notes with something akin to pleasure, is really only natural considering Merlin is his – admittedly fake – date. But it would be terribly embarrassing for everyone if his date spent the night making cow eyes at Gwaine.

“Ready to grow up yet?” he asks quietly, giving Merlin his best judgemental stare. Unfortunately he has never managed to perfect it to the same level as Morgana, and instead of looking cowed Merlin flashes him a smile and leans in.

Closer. And closer. Too close; Arthur can just about feel his breath on his ear. Not close enough to be inappropriate, and yet every hair on his neck is standing up. “Never,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur has almost completely forgotten the question as he cranes his neck around to stare at Merlin. This close his eyes appear very blue. Merlin cocks his head, and for a moment a smile plays in the corners of his eyes before suddenly withering away, giving way to a flash of wistful sadness that morphs into the already far too familiar blankness.

“Sorry,” Merlin says, quietly and suddenly standing at a perfectly reputable distance. “I’m usually much more professional.”

Arthur considers whether he would rather shake Merlin or tear his own hair out. He is positive nobody apart from Merlin himself likes the air of detachment he tries to surround himself with, and he hopes that either Morgana or Gwen manages to give him a good talking to about it at some point because it’s getting bloody annoying.

He is no good at those things himself, though, so he just shrugs and they fall into an awkward silence that lasts until they have been driven – “No, Arthur, you cannot drive, you’re a guest!” – into the inner ring.

 

xxx

 

The Hall is a round building towering in the centre of Camelot, built under the highest point of the barrier. Or maybe the barrier was set around it – the recorded history is sparse and those who were there are not talking. It’s ridiculous how they have several history books from the time before, stored carefully away in the library, and yet the last two hundred years are only word of mouth, no more accurate descriptions than a child’s daydream.

They are driven to the end of a short path leading to the main doors through a thin ring of trees surrounding the Hall. Apparently most of the time it stands dark and empty as a threatening figure, ever so rarely brought to life by events like the appointment of councillors. Arthur has never been inside, or indeed even been this deep into the inner circle; he hasn’t exactly been an important member of political society. He has never dared to campaign against the laws of magic too strongly for fear that it would attract attention to him and most of all endanger those he loves. Now he has a chance to act for what he believes to be right, and even if it's not in the open it is a piece of something important. A strange excitement runs through him as they step through the shadows of the trees with the rest of their party led by Morgana.

Two guards stand by the door, dressed in fine vests, solemn expressions and the peace symbol badges of the guard. Merlin drops closer to him, cautiously moving to wrap his hand around Arthur’s, giving him time to back away. Arthur doesn’t, of course, because this is part of their act and instead wills his body to relax as he moves a notch closer so that their shoulders brush ever so slightly with their last steps before Morgana presents the guards with their invitations. Merlin gives him a surprised look as they stop, and Arthur lifts one shoulder ever so slightly. He fancies Merlin looks a tiny bit impressed – or possibly amused and maybe surprised, but he likes to think it’s impressed – before he leans in closer with a coy smile. “Call me Owain,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur squints, confused, and Merlin narrows his eyes, glancing quickly towards Morgana who is talking with the guards, though his lips remain stretched into a wide smile. Arthur nods to show he understands. His work partner might be Merlin, but his date today is Owain, and that is who the guards are clearly seeing because they let them through, if not without a second then at least without a third glance.

 

**MERLIN IV**

Pressed snugly against Arthur’s side Merlin does his best to survey the building. He has been here only once before and his memory of the layout is hazy at best – and there is no saying minor changes could not have been made since then. The interior does appear to be the same though. The hallway they arrive in has a high, arched roof and on the grey walls hang paintings from the old world, some with names remembered even now, some completely unknown. As he glances at a painting with a red stroke across a black background he can’t say he is exactly charmed, and Arthur doesn’t look any more impressed, but from somewhere behind them Morgana’s voice chimes in: “I love that one!”

Merlin cocks his head, trying to see what Morgana is seeing and failing completely.

“It’s one red brush stroke on black. A child could do that,” Arthur says.

“That would not make it any less valuable,” Morgana says, challenge in her eyes. “What matters is that it’s powerful.”

Gwen murmurs her agreement and Gwaine seems to be busy fixing his hair, which looks perfect anyway, so Merlin just gives Arthur a helpless shrug. Apparently Arthur appreciates his support because he smiles widely at Merlin, annoyingly charming crooked teeth and all.

“Peasants,” Morgana says, shaking her head sadly. “Incapable of understanding the nuances of true art.”

"Pretentious snob," Arthur returns mildly.

"Uncultured swine."

"Bitch.”

“Git.”

“Children!” Gwen interrupts forcefully, hands on her hips. She seems to have gained an extra five centimetres of height and steel to her spine. It gives her a regal air that seems to work even on Arthur and Morgana, who look slightly chastised and proceed to pretend nothing has happened. Once again Merlin is struck by the similarity of their mannerisms in the face of the stark contrast of Morgana’s black hair and green eyes and Arthur’s gold and blue. Both of them are beautiful, though. Next to each other they are as stunning as a pair of gods.

They make their way through the hallway and paintings, the carpet of deep blue absorbing the sound of their steps. Gwen curses it for being too soft to walk on with heels.

A faint, slow music reaches them first and then the lights of the main hall hit them, blinding after the twilight of the hallway. Merlin blinks against the lights, trying to force his eyes to adjust quickly to be able to assess and guarantee Morgana’s safety.

Some faces in the sea of bright clothes turn to look. Some lift their glasses to greet them, few eager are already making a way in. Merlin recognises some. Councillor Annis only greets Morgana with a nod, but her son, Kay, makes way for Morgana immediately. As does Morgause, appearing from the edges of the group dressed in her grey uniform. Merlin tenses, but even worse is the cold prickle of guilt when he spots Mithian Nemeth trailing towards them, beautiful yet cool and collected. Her hair has been tied back and her ears are ornamented with heavy yet elegant silver earrings and her dress is stylishly cut out of midnight blue fabric.

He is no fool – he knew he was going to see her here and yet he had hoped for a moment of respite. Miss Nemeth had been Councillor Bayard’s subordinate, not daughter, not lover, not even a particularly close friend. And yet she had known the man whose life Merlin had stolen in secret like a thief in the night. Mithian might have known his family, his wife and young son, who had only just manifested his magic. Are they here today? Feverishly he hopes that the answer is no.

Arthur frowns and Merlin hopes nothing has shown on his face, but Morgana seems to be intent on stealing the attention as she strides to meet Mithian and kisses her on both cheeks. She should not initiate close contact so easily; it’s foolish and risky, though she has probably deemed it necessary for her game. Doesn’t mean Merlin has to be happy about it. It’s his job to make sure no one Morgana decides to embrace manages to stick a knife in her in the process. It wouldn’t even take a knife. A small nick with something sharp, coated in potent enough poison and that would be it. Easy and clean.

To make matters worse Morgana brings Mithian to them, leaving Kay and the others to draw back awkwardly, trying to look like they had never even meant to approach Morgana in the first place. Morgause is an exception and stays close, shooting them looks that Merlin can only describe as anxious.

Morgana doesn’t seem to notice, busy with Mithian and making introductions. When it’s his turn he shakes Mithian’s hand, feeling her work-roughened skin, and she smiles at him politely, friendly enough yet carefully not overtly familiar. Merlin tries to appear a bit more relaxed and carefree for the brief moment her dark eyes assess him. She doesn’t know him, he reminds himself. She might have – has almost surely – seen Merlin with Mr. Pendragon, but here she has met Owain, the date of Morgana’s friend, and not Merlin who lurks underneath.

But her eyes come back from Gwen. “Have we met before, mayhaps? You seem awfully familiar, Owain.”

Arthur’s hand that has wound its way around his waist again tightens, drawing Merlin closer, and he speaks even as Merlin shakes his head, voice light and teasing. “Are you hitting on my date, Miss Nemeth?”

Her mouth opens in surprise and the faintest flush creeps to her cheeks, though the reaction is so small it would be impossible to notice from further away. “Of course not,” she says quickly. “Maybe we have met through one of my father’s business ventures or my hunter comrades? What do you do for living?”

He has a backstory, of course he does, he always does, because he is no amateur, and despite the cold weight of his leaden heart he says, “Gardening!” cheerfully.

She leans back a bit, considering. “That’s lovely. I have some very meagre talent in it myself, though I never visit the gardens. Maybe I have met your long lost twin?” She shrugs, and finally shakes Gwen’s and Gwaine’s hands. Gwaine’s eyebrow waggle receives only a retreat full of cool judgement.

“Morgana,” she says, barely loud enough for Merlin to hear. “I know this is not the time or place to talk about this but I know you're trying to force the law through and I just want you to know I'd be happy to help in any way I can."

Morgana gives her a long considering look, and then moves her hand around Mithian's shoulder in a deceptively friendly looking gesture, her true intent given away only from the way her sharp nails curve against Mithian's skin, close but not quite biting in. Mithian doesn't flinch, or even look surprised; she simply nods calmly and Morgana smiles. "How about your office, midday tomorrow?"

"Excellent," Mithian agrees, kissing Morgana's cheek. She nods at the rest of them politely and is instantly swept off by a passing man with a hungry look in his eyes.

"Interesting," Morgana says.

Merlin is inclined to agree. He itches to tell Morgana to proceed cautiously, but he knows she knows. And she also knows much more about Miss Mithian Nemeth than Merlin does.

"Almost as interesting as we are standing here in front of the entrance," Arthur comments dryly, eyeing the curious observers pointedly.

Morgana’s teeth flash white under the light of the crystals. “Please, darling – I’m always interesting.” She twirls around, her dress flowing like green fire behind her, and disappears to Morgause’s side in a blink.

How is he supposed to protect her when she runs around like a baby fawn? A fire breathing baby fawn maybe, but a baby fawn all the same.

He spies Arthur and Gwen sharing an exasperated look which does make him feel a bit better. Gwaine has already halfway through the distance to a table where hundreds of glasses of sparkling wine have been piled upon each other into a dangerous display of extravagance. If they need a non-magical distraction Merlin has one ready to be used right here, one gentle push away.

“Go and get us a drink?” he says to Arthur with his sweetest smile, batting his eyelashes for good measure.

“I think that should be your job, _Owain_.” Merlin grits his teeth silently against Arthur’s infatuating smirk that somehow doesn’t make him look any less attractive, though it really should.

“I think it would be my job to stay here.”

It does go through, though the process is nearly painful to watch. Arthur’s deliberately lazy posture straightens into attentiveness and he looks briefly like he wants to facepalm himself – but as Merlin has suspected since beginning Arthur is kind of a git.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he says and plants a light peck on Merlin’s nose. Fucking nose. In a way it’s almost achingly sweet. He very seriously considers crafting some particularly nasty illusion specially for Arthur, but unfortunately he hasn’t quite shred all remains of his professionalism which insists he needs to save his energy in case something goes wrong.

Gwen shifts her weight from one foot to another and then looks down to smooth her skirt. “So umm!” she starts brightly and trails off.

“Umm?” Merlin prompts, amused despite himself.

“Umm,” Gwen repeats and pinches her mouth shut in mortification. “I meant – how long have you worked at your job? The job which is gardening, obviously!”

“Three years, maybe four. I forget.” He doesn’t, of course. It had been February three years ago. Tuesday evening. He had sat down in Uther Pendragon’s office, pen in his hand and looked down at the two sets of the contract on the table in front of him; one for his public job, one for the real one. Mr. Pendragon had patted his shoulder awkwardly, almost scaring Merlin out of his skin, and he had been wearing a strange expression Merlin hadn’t seen since then. He suspects it might have been sympathy.

“Oh, I guess that’s only natural. I mean I have worked for Morgana since I graduated, which was four years ago. But it’s not like I can recall the exact date or anything! Especially since I had worked there as an intern before that, because, well, it made kinda sense because I knew Morgana – who wouldn’t want to work with one of their best friends? And then there was Arthur as well, because I couldn’t really leave him on his own, could I?” Her eyes widen and she makes a set of wild hand gestures, which Merlin guesses meant she wants to take that back. “That came out wrong, didn’t it? He would manage just fine on his own, of course, you know what I mean because he is brilliant at his job and you do know that, of course!”

She is such a sweet girl, he thinks and smiles while keeping an eye on Morgana from the corner of his eye. She is still talking to Morgause.

“Not nearly as brilliant as you,” Arthur says mildly from their side, offering Merlin a glass of the sparkling.

“I do not find that hard to believe at all,” Gwaine quips, and Merlin half expects Arthur to tense, but he doesn’t, laughing it off with a genuine sounding mirth.

Gwen crosses her arms unhappily. “You get mechanics and I’ll punch your pretty nose askew if you claim anything else,” she says with a note of fierceness lingering on her tongue. “I can’t even manage to make a bloody computer work!”

“You’re trying to build a computer?” Merlin asks, the question startled out of him. He remembers reading about computers and other complicated devices beyond the grasp of their current skills and materials from the dusty tomes of the library. He had snuck past the guards with no effort to speak off with his powers, and hiding inside had been just as easy. The reward had been countless times worth the risk; the time he had spent pouring over lost knowledge had been one of his greatest treasures.

“Yes?” Gwen answers, clutching the glass Gwaine has now handed her. “It’s not going too well though.”

“I know a clever mind when I see it, and you definitely have one!” Gwaine declares. “I propose a toast to Gwen’s computer!”

Poor Gwen looks ready to die from embarrassment but Arthur lifts his glass gleefully and Merlin follows his suit, though in a bit more tempered fashion. The clink of glass against glass is clear, as is the taste of the drink itself on Merlin’s tongue a moment later. It is quite nice.

>> Merlin. <<

He frowns, looking around. He is sure he heard someone calling his name, yet the only person close enough for such a silent whisper is Arthur and that had definitely not been Arthur’s voice. It had sounded young, boyish almost.

>> MERLIN! <<

This time he knows which way to look instinctually. The boy is not hard to spot, dressed in a green cape with the hood thrown back to reveal an ungroomed black hair, and Merlin knows that the boy is staring right into his eyes.

>> Tell your mistress Nimueh wants to talk. Come to the cherub fountain in the garden. <<

Merlin grabs Arthur’s hand in a death grip while his head snaps around to look for Morgana. For a terrifying moment his eyes fail to spot her and his heart stops mid-beat before restarting in an uneven gallop as he recognises her green dress. Sharply he looks back towards the boy – and finds nothing but a crowd of adults.

“Merlin!” He doesn’t immediately realize that it’s not the telepathy of the strange boy talking in his head but Arthur snapping at him.

Merlin looks at Arthur’s pinched brow and is about to ask if Arthur heard the boy as well when Arthur hisses at him. “Your nails are going to draw blood in two seconds so for the love of god please remove them before I bleed all over this expensive floor!”

Merlin’s white knuckled fingers burn as he snatches them away from Arthur’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur looks at his arm and visibly winces at the dark crescents Merlin’s nails have left on his skin. However, the hint of embarrassment Merlin feels is overshadowed by his worry, which Arthur also evidently spots easily enough.

“What’s wrong?”

Merlin shakes his head. “We need to get Morgana,” he says loud enough for Gwen and Gwaine to hear as well. They give him curious looks but say nothing, Gwen taking the first step towards Morgana, who is still in deep conversation with Morgause. It grates on Merlin’s already frayed nerves enough to make him want simply make them all disappear from any potentially dangerous observers.

“Morgana!” Gwen calls out to her as they approach and Morgana turns to them, a deep frown marring her face. “We need to –“

“– show you the gardens,” Gwaine interrupts smoothly. “They’re glorious, you simply must come with us! No arguments, love. Seeing as you are the one who invited us we rather think it’s your duty to keep us company.”

Morgause doesn’t look too pleased, though whether it is caused by their interruption or her general contempt at life is anyone’s guess and she doesn’t protest when Morgana smiles at her apologetically and makes her excuses.

xxx

“Wait,” Merlin says, stopping them midway on the stairs leading to the roof, opening a door to an empty meeting room instead and waving them all inside.

Morgana draws out a chair from under the table and then shoves it away towards the wall, sitting on the table instead.

“Take care of the door, would you?” Morgana says to him.

Merlin does as he is told, creating a quick illusion to mask the door from outside and turns the lock closed just in case.

“Exciting,” Gwaine comments dryly and sips from the glass he has actually taken along with him.

Morgana ignores him, and gives Merlin a questioning look. Arthur is not as patient.

“What’s going on?”

“Are we in danger?” Gwen continues, worried eyes sliding over Arthur and Morgana like she can’t quite decide which one is more likely to get themselves killed.

“I don’t know,” he says. “A boy spoke to me –“ he sees they’re about to interrupt and silences them with a dark glare. “– telepathically. He said Nimueh wants to meet –“ _Your mistress._ “– you, Morgana. At the fountain.”

“Nimueh?” They all echo, and Merlin shrugs. “That’s what he said.”

As far as he knows only one has ever carried that name. He doesn’t think anyone would have wanted to risk the wrath of the Triad for something as simple as naming their child after their sister. Nimueh had been there to cast the barrier protecting Camelot two hundred years ago and then, depending on the version, she had either tried to seize the power all for herself or had spoken against her sisters for keeping the power at their own hands instead of giving it to the people. The city had stood in the brink of a civil war before Nimueh had bowed in the face of the combined power of her sisters and disappeared.

“It could be someone simply using her name,” Morgana says, but her voice is keen and curious.

“It could,” Merlin agrees.

“Or it could be a trap,” Arthur points out, but Morgana shakes her head.

“It doesn’t feel like a trap.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Arthur asks, voice flat as a sheet of paper. “You don’t feel like it’s a fucking trap?!”

While Merlin is intrigued he does concede Arthur’s point. “We should be careful.”

“I knew I should have brought my gun,” Gwaine sighs.

“Don’t worry,” Gwen says. “I brought two.”

She lifts the hem of her dress up to reveal holsters of shining brown leather wrapped around her legs. She removes the gun on her left leg and holds it out to Gwaine handle first. He accepts it carefully and weighs it in his hand before hiding it under his vest with a content nod.

Arthur is clearly gobsmacked. Silently Merlin removes one of his knives from his sleeve and presses it firmly into Arthur’s hand, closing his fingers around the simple, dark handle. He lets the touch linger, half because he is afraid Arthur will drop the knife if he lets go, but Arthur meets his eyes a second later, the lost look gone and Merlin lets go with a twinge of regret.

Moving on with an awkward cough he tries to hand a second, smaller knife to Morgana, but she shakes her head, lips quirked. “I think those are more use on you than on me.” She pushes herself down from the table. “The fountain you said?”

xxx

Arthur keeps fidgeting with the knife as they climb up the stairs towards the gardens, and Merlin starts almost regretting his gesture.

“You’re not going to stab yourself with it, are you?” he asks finally, around the 93rd step when Arthur still hasn’t stopped eyeing the knife with morbid fascination.

At the question Arthur stumbles on the step and for a horrifying moment Merlin imagines he has actually handed Arthur the instrument of his doom, but Arthur recovers his balance in a split second and then has the audacity to give Merlin a look that can only describe as offended.

“Of course not!” he answers sharply, rather more loudly than is probably appropriate for their needed secrecy, and Gwen, who is a couple of steps ahead, turns to shush them.

Merlin smiles as apologetically as he can while Arthur glares daggers at him like it’s somehow Merlin’s fault Arthur can’t control his voice. Miraculously Gwen seems placated, almost amused and continues climbing after giving them one last, meaningful look.

“It was a perfectly reasonable question,” Merlin says. Quietly.

Arthur skips a step to get ahead of him before speaking. “Maybe you should consider the possibility that I’m actually competent?”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” Truth to be told he is not sure Arthur knows. There might be real uncertainty behind the rigid set of his shoulders, but he can’t tell for sure – and Arthur doesn’t seem willing to share. Not that Merlin particularly cares about Arthur’s inner workings. He has enough on his own plate to deal with without trying to sort out Arthur’s shit as well.

He lets Arthur get away with ignoring him. Holding up two long term simultaneous illusions of different scale is starting to get to him, requiring more and more concentration. He tries to focus his attention, picture himself as the illusion around him and tries to join the image to the larger illusion around them all. He is so focused on fine tuning every piece to fit, to make it all last that his feet slips and he almost falls on his face and the magic he has been holding in his hands unravels like a knitting after its threads have been dropped. Only the basic work that he hasn’t been modifying holds as he tries to not fall on his face. He barely manages to stay approximately on his feet, limbs flailing, but unfortunately as he regains his balance he finds Arthur staring at him.

Merlin wonders if he will laugh or make a snidely comment about Merlin’s supposed competence, and for seconds the air stands still, the universe stalling for time to calculate the possible outcomes of their next few moves. Arthur though, defying all laws of logical behaviour, sighs and then actually smiles a lovely genuine smile that seems almost warm and offers Merlin a hand. Confused, unsure about what he should do with it, Merlin carefully takes it.

Arthur grins, bright as sun in a summer painting, and Merlin gets the feeling he might be missing something vital. “We don’t have all day, partner dear,” Arthur says and tugs Merlin to follow.

**ARTHUR IV**

Arthur is fairly sure Merlin didn’t mirror Arthur’s clumsiness to make him feel better, but somehow seeing that the great Merlin isn’t actually all grace and skill does cheer him up. It also reminds him that Merlin probably really wasn’t judging him based on something so silly. Carrying grudge over imagined slights is ridiculous, immature and helps him none.

He keeps his hand loosely tied around Merlin’s wrist as they climb the last floors, feeling strange partnerships, or at least potential for one, in their silence.

xxx

They crowd behind the garden doors for a moment, twitchy and restless. Arthur takes Merlin’s knife out from the belt loop he shoved it into and gives Merlin a wry smile which Merlin returns. Gwen and Gwaine lift their guns up, readying themselves as unarmed Morgana opens the door. Arthur is pretty sure he likes Morgana's unconcerned attitude about as much as Merlin, who looks like he is seriously contemplating knocking her out and locking her in a safe basement.

The garden they step into is truly breathtaking. The trees with strange bark and shapes climb high and wide around them, bearing fruits Arthur has never seen before. On the ground bright flowers of yellow, blue, pink and violet form almost hypnotising mat of radiance. Arthur determinedly turns his head away from the distractions, trying to focus on the task at hand. He sincerely hopes that nobody else has felt the need to come up and explore the gardens, because he can't even begin to imagine how they would react to seeing Morgana Pendragon escorted by an armed group of guests. He suspects none of them want to find out.

"Should we lock the door?" He whispers.

"It's hardly the only one coming up here," Morgana answers equally quietly. "But I suppose it can't hurt." She turns the lock and it clicks shut.

She moves forward to take her place in the lead but Gwen's hand sneaks out to stop her.

"No way," she says firmly. "Gwaine and I have the guns so we go first."

"Gwen–" Morgana starts, frowning.

“No.” Gwen is clearly not going to be moved.

Morgana, in a moment of ill judgement, tries to stare her down – and fails miserably because Gwen has never been cowed by her when it really matters, and if Arthur is completely, uncomfortably honest Gwen can actually be just as bloody scary as Morgana.

"Fine," Morgana sighs, unable to hold Gwen’s eyes.

"Praise the gods for this miracle," Merlin mutters and Arthur has to bite back a surprised bark of laughter.

Morgana gives them both a withering glare, but even that isn't quite enough to tamper Arthur's hilarity, which might have its roots in – well, obviously not hysterics, but maybe in the stress of the recent events.

“The fountain is this way,” Gwaine says, gesturing towards a path diverging to the left. His characteristic light hearted demeanour has dropped almost completely, replaced by professional efficiency. For the first time Arthur wonders what exactly it is he has been doing for Morgana and Uther.

“Shall we go then?” Morgana asks, and Gwen and Gwaine step forwards. Morgana glances at Merlin. “Are you still keeping us auspicious?”

“As much as I can.”

Morgana nods thoughtfully, probably noting the tense undercurrent of his voice just as Arthur has. “Keep it up.”

“I will,” Merlin agrees, and slips behind Arthur and Morgana on the path.

They don’t have to walk long before the sound of falling water is clear in their ears. Arthur can feel his hackles rising. Merlin, almost at his back, stumbles and curses quietly.

"They know we are here," he says. Everybody stops on their tracks and turns to stare at Merlin. "He said she was pleased that we have come and that there is no need for allies to greet each other with weapons."

"That much for surprise then," Gwaine says, shrugging. "But I think we keep the weapons at hand anyway."

Arthur snorts, "They must be insane if they think we would meet them unarmed. We don't even know for sure who they are."

"We'll see," Morgana says. "Are you alright, Merlin?

Merlin does appear a bit pale now Morgana mentions it, but he gives them a crooked grin and says, "It's just weird, having a voice start talking inside your head, that's all."

"I suppose so," Arthur says slowly. He wonders if the constant stream of magic Merlin is keeping up is starting to drain him. Maintaining two big illusions simultaneously cannot be easy.

The cherub on the fountain is in mid movement, his lips on a horn from which the water streams down to the shallow pool beneath it. On the stone edge sits a woman with an unbound dark hair, dressed in a long, purple dress hugging her body. Her face is turned away from them and she appears to be staring into the fountain with great fascination. However, a boy in a green cloak is standing next to her, and he is most definitely staring straight at them. His eyes feel like hot coals on Arthur’s skin, and he shudders ever so slightly.

"Lady," the boy says, and the woman looks up, a strange, wry smile on her lips. She could be in her early thirties, but of course if she is who she claims to be she is at least several hundreds of years old.

They all halt as she moves to stands up, the air crackling between them as they wait. Arthur's hand feels sweaty on the hilt of the knife, his hold suddenly slippery and the knife heavy. He hopes he doesn't have to even pretend that he knows how to use it.

Dark eyes regard them for a moment, and if the boy's gaze was unsettling her is terrifying – suddenly Arthur has no trouble believing this is truly Nimueh of the tales told only in whispers.

"Morgana Pendragon," she says, pronouncing every syllable carefully like they are foreign on her tongue. "Merlin Emrys, Gwaine Green, Guinevere Smith and Arthur – de Bois. How very curious. A pleasure."

"And you are the one claiming to be Nimueh," Morgana says, bold as ever.

Arthur glances at Merlin, who by the looks of his pained frown is probably debating between strangling Morgana and burying his head into his hands, and Arthur sympathises, though he can’t really blame Morgana since he understands why she does it. Standing behind others has always been difficult for him too, even before he knew he was a magicless freak who needed help from his friends to hide. Morgana is in the lead though, and Arthur would rather avoid getting stabbed by her heel which is doubtlessly what would happen if he tried to steal her mantle of leadership.

Nimueh doesn't seem exactly offended though. "Would you like to see my two hundred something year old passport?" she inquires, though not without obvious sarcasm.

"No need," Merlin says, quiet but firm. "It's her. I have seen pictures of her in the archives."

"Are you sure?" Gwen asks, almost simultaneously as Arthur says, "Archives?" and Gwaine says, "You have seen those?"

"Yes?"

Arthur makes a mental note to find out what archives Merlin is talking about without revealing the extent of his ignorance, most notably avoiding giving Morgana – and maybe also Merlin – a reason to laugh at him. Which basically means he has to ask Gwen and swear her to secrecy.

"Your identity does not explain why you wanted to meet me," Morgana points out.

Nimueh's smile sharpens to reveal a line of perfectly straight and white teeth. "You're a clever girl, I think you have guessed."

Morgana crosses her arms. "I'd rather hear it from you."

"I think we have a common enemy." It sounds like the thought amuses her. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, it’s as simple as that. And I have a way to get rid of our common enemy, but I need you and your resources to achieve it."

"You have a way to kill an immortal?" Gwaine butts in, obvious disbelief in his voice. Morgana's head whips around to give him an icy glare.

"Well." Nimueh purses her lips. "I don't have it, exactly. But I know a way. What have you got to lose?"

"Quite a lot, I'd like to think," Morgana says, but her sparkling eyes betray her excitement. "Do you have any proof?"

"Send one of them with me and you'll have your proof."

"Or a hostage," Arthur points out sharply. The idea of sending one of them to an unknown place alone with a woman claiming to be an immortal sorceress is only barely short of mad and most definitely dangerous. Merlin is the only one of them who would probably be able to get away if the whole thing turned out to be a trap, but that would mean stripping Morgana of her best line of defence.

Nimueh widens her eyes. "Such suspicion is unwarranted, I assure you. Whatever would I need a hostage for? You're not going to sell me to my sisters."

"Two," Morgana says.

"What?" Arthur, Gwaine and Gwen ask as one. "You're not serious," Merlin snaps.

"Two of you, Arthur and Gwaine, will go. We can say you cruelly abandoned your dates in the favour of snogging each other and the heartbroken Gwen and Merlin stay here with me."

"I can go alone," Arthur says, bristling. "There is no need to paint us as complete bastards. It could be–" He tries to come up with some other innocuous reason people left highly prestigious parties for. "A family emergency!" he exclaims triumphantly.

Morgana gives him a long look which really isn't warranted – family emergency is a perfectly valid excuse. "Snogging it is," she says decisively.

Merlin shifts uneasily. "Are you sure? Morgana, if anything goes wrong–"

Nimueh waves her hand impatiently. "I can’t exactly hide him anywhere with the magical tracker she has on him, now can I? Now–“

“What?” Arthur hisses from between clenched teeth as he whirls on Morgana, who lifts her jaw defensively.

“It was a necessary precaution.”

Arthur can’t believe it. She had known Arthur wouldn’t approve so she hadn’t even asked; he knows that the only thing she will genuinely apologise for is that he ever found out.

“I thought we trusted each other. I’m glad that at least now I know our friendship actually means nothing to you.” From the corner of his eye he catches Gwen glancing  between them, expression torn. “Fuck you, Morgana,” he adds for emphasis.

“Please,” she snaps. “I simply care more about your safety than about your precious feelings.” They glare at each other for a moment, both trying to cover up their hurt. While Arthur suspects that Morgana sees through his act at least he sees through hers too.

It’s satisfying to know he has managed to hurt her back, even more so to know that he could cut deeper still with little things he has learned over the years. Her mother’s affair with another man. How Uther had always wanted a son instead of a daughter. But he isn’t that cruel, no matter how tempting the idea might taste and no matter how much a vicious little voice insists that she deserves it.

He startles when someone touches his arm lightly and turns away from Morgana. That feels good. He expects it to be Gwen, but instead it’s Merlin, whose brow is pinched into a warning – if not unsympathetic – frown.

“Leave it for now,” he says quietly enough that the fall of the fountain almost obscures his words. “Talk it through later, but now we need to appear united and strong and this is really not cutting it. Don’t be a prat just because she has hurt your precious pride.”

Arthur would quite like to wring Merlin’s pretty, long neck.

“This is not about my pride.” He keeps his voice low and even tries to force a smile. Merlin is right that they shouldn’t appear divided but he is also damned wrong if he thinks this is about Arthur’s pride.

“Deal with it later,” Merlin repeats, eyes flickering to Nimueh who is staring at them with raw hunger plain on her face.

Arthur nods slowly, continuing to watch Nimueh from the corner of his eye. Merlin gives an exasperated sigh, rises on his tiptoes and leans in on bewildered Arthur, placing a fleeting kiss on his nose. Revenge, no doubt. Arthur makes a face at him.

Nimueh lets out a surprised bark of laughter and the boy next to her turns beet red. Arthur suspects his own cheeks might be burning with the same colour even as Merlin’s lips twitch into a slight grin and Gwaine lets out a wolf whistle because he is a crude bastard.

“As pleasant as all this is, we need to get going before someone finds out I’m here,” Nimueh says, chuckling, and Morgana nods to show her agreement. “Arthur, Gwaine, and Mordred, please come closer.”

Arthur and Gwaine share a look of mutual confusion about what’s going on. The boy, apparently Mordred, takes Nimueh’s offered hand and looks at Arthur.

>> Don’t be afraid, << an eerie voice of a child says in his head. If Merlin hadn’t mentioned the boy’s telepathic abilities earlier Arthur would have probably let out a terrified shriek or something else highly embarrassing. Now his rational mind catches on quickly and he manages to mask his surprised twitch as a cough. He also manages to stop himself from proclaiming “I’m not afraid, you little shit,” out loud. He just thinks it very loudly, but the boy doesn’t give any indication he has heard Arthur’s response.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Nimueh says, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to use a transportation magic. Now. Come. Here.”

Arthur suspects she doesn’t mean she is going to take them to a car and drive them to their destination but rather something that should not be possible, something involving pure, legendary magic. He nods at Gwaine. They step forward.

Nimueh’s hand snakes forward to meet them, catching his wrist and her eyes light up with gold – like Merlin’s. A violent wind rises around them with icy howling, tearing at his hair and clothes with a million sharp fangs. Arthur closes his eyes against it and the ground disappears from under his feet, sending his stomach into a twisting knot.

**MERLIN V**

Merlin tenses with alarm when Nimueh grabs Arthur and Gwaine, but despite the unpleasant prickling of his senses he stands back because they’re, apparently, allies now. He watches as a swirl of violent wind first hides the group from sight and then blinks away, leaving behind only a gently swinging orchid that has managed to secure a spot from a crack in the tiles Nimueh had just stood on.

He shakes his head, willing away the threatening headache that is by no means helped by Morgana’s expression that is simultaneously thunderous and worried.

“I – I think that should not be possible,” Gwen stammers, hands clenched in the fabric of her skirt.

“Probably not,” Merlin agrees tiredly. He is half expecting to wake up to realise that all the recent craziness is just a dream, a product of his overworked subconsciousness.

Morgana draws herself up, straightening her slightly slumped spine into her normal regal posture. She gives them a tight, challenging smile. “Let’s hope she doesn’t put that skill into getting rid of Arthur’s tracker.”

Gwen frowns. “Oh – I’m sure it’s fine. I mean I’m sure it won’t be needed.”

Her voice is very much genuinely worried, not that it surprises Merlin, because from what he has gathered Gwen and Arthur are almost family. There is nothing more natural in the world than wanting to keep those you love safe.

“They’ll be alright,” Merlin says, studying the white tiles under his feet awkwardly.

“Nimueh has no reason to hurt them,” Morgana says, managing to sound half-convincing.

They walk back through the gardens, and Merlin lets the illusion hiding them fall. Gwen has hidden her gun back to the holster under her skirt and Merlin shoves his knife back to its hiding place.

It’s easy to summon the depressed brood of a ditched date. The thought of returning to the party, endless hours of loud chatter and too many potentially dangerous people pressing close to Morgana is suddenly beyond exhausting. He would probably need to tolerate Morgause as well, and she hadn't seemed too happy when she had been talking to Morgana earlier.

"What did Morgause want earlier?" he asks. "She seemed a bit off."

Morgana is quiet for a few steps. "I agree. It was strange – I got the feeling she was telling me to leave. Not in so many words, of course–"

Merlin stops. “You didn’t think to mention this earlier? Bloody hell, if something is going on we need to go!”

"No," she says evenly. "I need this position to continue fighting for all of us. Everybody knows I'm here to be appointed, they wouldn't dare to touch me."

"We could say you got sick?” Gwen tries. “They cannot withhold your position because of that.”

“No,” Morgana repeats, giving them a hard look. “I need to do this. I need to stand up to them. Someone has to and if you’re too scared to stand with me you are free to leave.”

She knows they won’t, of course, just as she knows they aren’t scared for themselves. Regardless, it makes Merlin’s hackles rise.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Gwen says firmly.

She is standing on a higher step than Morgana, staring down at her with piercing eyes. Gwen doesn’t look angry or even really scary – while Morgana’s glares have made grown men, Merlin included, to wish they could disappear into thin air, Gwen simply looks and sees. It makes Merlin profoundly uncomfortable even though he isn’t even the object of her gaze.

Morgana stands her ground but a sheepish smile makes its way up to her lips.

“We’ll leave as soon after the ceremony as we can, alright,” she sighs. “It’ll start soon anyway, let’s go before we are going to be late.”

Gwen pointedly chatters about everything normal as they approach the main hall: work, someone’s new dress, marriage of someone named Isolde and so on. Merlin mostly tunes her into relaxing background noise because he mostly has no idea what she is talking about. She makes a point of trying to include him once or twice with a nervous smile, but Merlin simply gives short and polite answers before dropping out again.

They gather far less attention as they re-enter the party from the side door than they did upon their first arrival, but the noise and colours somehow manage to look even more obnoxious second time around.

They have a second round of drinks after agreeing that they all need it, and Morgana insists that Merlin has to give Gwen a dance. He keeps tripping all over her because he tries to keep an eye on Morgana, and Gwen is too nice to say anything about it, though he catches her biting her lip a few times in a poor attempt to hide an amused smile.

Morgana has managed to get rid of Councillor Annis’ son, Kay, for the second time when the lights in the hall dim and the music drifts away with one last haunting note.

Merlin takes an automatic step closer to Morgana and from the corner of his eye he notes Gwen doing the same before he focuses all his attention to the stage at the back of the hall. At the corners torches flare to life and under the first bright flash Merlin makes out the protective wards surrounding the stage. He reaches at them blindly with his senses, and flinches back as soon as he feels their empty touch: anti-magic wards, directed at anyone whose magic wasn’t specifically excluded from their influence, rendering anyone else inside them completely defenceless.

Three figures climb to the stage, dressed in long, hooded robes of indigo. The hoods are deep, but even if one managed to sneak a glance under them they would only be met by a dark veil. Nobody knows what the faces of the Triad look like or what their names are – all traces of their identities have been wiped out of even the oldest of records; all Merlin has ever managed to find are missing pages. They might not even be real sisters – but Nimueh would know, he realises with a twinge of curiosity.

 _Welcome, good citizens of Camelot!_ a bodiless voice announces, seemingly speaking from all directions at once. The voice is youthful and melodic, almost pleasant despite the eerie deliverance. _In the face of the great tragedies that have robbed Councillor Uther and Councillor Bayard from us, not long after the death of Councillor Aulfric, we’d ask you to have a moment of silence for these great men._

On the stage the Triad lower their heads, and silence washes over the audience in one fell swoop. He wonders if this is some sort of twisted mockery from their part or simple obligation in the face of expectations. He lowers his head though, and closes his eyes for a short moment.

Three deaths, the blood of two on his hands, and the heavy knowledge that he should have prevented the third on his shoulders.

 _Thank you._ The voice might be different, Merlin’s not sure. _We will remember these men for their service, but now the time has come to appoint those who will continue their work. We call forth Mithian Nemeth._

The crowd shifts and Mithian moves through easily. As she takes the first step up to the stage, through the wards, she shudders and for a split second her next step falters. Merlin has to applaud at her for how fast she regains her composure, despite probably feeling like she had been drenched in icy water. Merlin doubts anyone who hadn’t known what to watch for would have even noticed anything.

Mithian kneels in front of the Triad, and they approach her as one, stopping so close that the robes of the foremost one are almost touching her bowed head. She lowers her hand to Mithian’s dark hair –  a gesture others claimed was to see if the swearer was false, while other maintained it was symbolic – and Mithian begins her oath, swearing her allegiance to the Triad and to Camelot and its people.

Merlin wonders idly if the order of the words in the oath is intentional, giving the foremost loyalty to the Triad and only then to the city.

 _We accept your loyalty, Mithian of the Hunters,_ three voices, closely resembling each other, echo and the foremost Triadi moves to the side, and another one steps forward holding out a chain with the golden key of a councillor, which she places around Mithian’s neck. Mithian rises slowly, bows first at the Triad and then at the audience and leaves the stage.

 _Morgana Pendragon,_ one of the voices says. Merlin glances at Morgana: she looks determined and proud, and the shaking of her tightly clutched hands is almost invisible.

Merlin pushes some way closer to the stage in her wake as she strides forwards, and stops to stand at Gwen’s side.

He leans as close to her ear as he dares and thanks his lucky stars that there is at least some rustling of clothing and echoes of whispers floating around to give his words a bit of cover.

“Be ready to draw your gun.”

Gwen’s eyes widen slightly and she nods to show she has understood. Merlin loosens the knife in his sleeve and drops the end of the handle to his hand, ready to draw it properly out in a split second and throw it across the air.

Morgana rises to the stage slowly. The green dress gleams in the fickle light of the torches and her posture doesn’t waver even for a blink as she crosses the wards. Her long shadow makes Merlin think of wings; she is a dragon, the Triad unsuspecting sheep, and for a moment Merlin forgets to be afraid for her, but then she kneels and the image shatters and he grips the handle of the knife all the tighter.

The hoods of the Triad are turned to Morgana and Merlin imagines their eyes of burning gold – like Nimueh’s when she had cast her spell – fixed on her. Merlin holds his breath as everybody on the stage remains unmoving for seven and half seconds – Merlin counts – but then the Triad move forward and one of them places her hand on Morgana’s head in an exact replica of what they had done with Mithian.

_Morgana Pendragon, we hereby arrest you for the murders of Bayard Stafford and Aulfric Sidhe, and high treason._

Gwen draws her gun and Merlin propels himself forward while aiming the knife at the Triadi touching Morgana. He feels like everything is moving unbearably slowly, and with the same unbearable slowness Morgana falls and Merlin’s knife leaves his hand, only to clatter uselessly to the floor from the wards. Physical barrier, his mind cries even as he crashes against it uselessly. Gwen fires, but the magical pulse is no more effective.

The Triad turn to them slowly.

_Guards!_

He stares at Morgana, lying on the floor. They won’t kill her without a trial. It’s Gwen’s wild and scared eyes that decide it for him, and he draws as much of his magic as he can and forms it into a huge shadow dragon hovering above them. What little he has left he uses to hide himself and Gwen.

“Out!” he yells to Gwen over the screams that have risen around them.

“But–!” she starts. Merlin cuts her off. “We can’t help her here and we can do even less if we get caught!”

Gwen looks torn for half a second and then she nods and grabs his hand for a frantic run across the floors.

**ARTHUR V**

Arthur dimly registers Nimueh's clear laugh as his legs give out under him and he falls to the lovely solid ground. It's smooth and cool under his hands, like some sort of stone, and eases the nausea churning in his stomach. Gwaine curses weakly from somewhere close and Arthur half opens his eyes to squint at his surroundings.

Blessedly the light around them is soft and he opens his eyes more fully. Nimueh is standing a couple of feet away, with no hair out of place, holding a lightstone. The boy, Mordred is observing them from her side with a bemused smile. Gwaine is sitting behind Arthur, face unmistakably green and eyes squeezed tightly shut. Probably the first time in his life that he has looked anything less than attractive. Arthur would laugh at him if he didn't feel so sick himself, though he can’t resist commenting entirely.

"You look awful," he says

Gwaine opens one of his eyes gingerly for a second before closing it again. "You too, mate."

Arthur doesn’t doubt him in the slightest, though he’d like to think Gwaine still looks worse.

It takes them a moment to sort their insides into order, and it’s definitely not helped by the insistent, impatient tap of Mordred’s foot.

Arthur hadn’t had much time to give thought to where Nimueh’s hideout could have been placed, but he had expected a building and not a tunnel with shining floor of sandy brown stone and rough, uneven walls.

“Are we underneath Camelot?” he asks, a bit awed despite himself. And it is important strategic information too.

“We are,” Nimueh confirms with a pleased hum, running her fingers along the wall. “These were here long before Camelot was built.”

“How convenient,” Gwaine mutters.

“Isn’t it just?” Nimueh agrees cheerfully.

Arthur memorises every turn they take carefully, even though there is no guarantee that finding way back would mean finding a way out. Luckily the tunnels do not seem to hold many branches or illogical turns. They are absent to the degree only deliberate, careful planning could have achieved, which begs the question about their purpose. Why would someone go through such a trouble? It’s frustrating to notice he knows too little about the time before to even make an educated guess.

They take a sharp turn left and suddenly the tunnel ends and they stand in a huge open space.

“Fuck me,” Gwaine says and Arthur would agree if his jaw hadn’t dropped to the floor and thus been unavailable for speech formation.

An underground city rises in front of them.

The walls climb at least hundred feet up, full of windows and staircases, ending to a stone roof full of small stones emitting translucent light. An underground river flows sleepily in a shallow ravine crossed by multiple stone bridges. One of them has lost at least half of its stones to the river’s embrace.

In the approximate middle of the irregularly shaped huge cavern rises a tower – or maybe it would have been more accurate to call it a pillar because far above them it merges with the roof. On what must be the first few floors of the tower there are no windows, only large white doors above a set of stairs and polished stone between four columns sticking slightly out of the main structure. Higher up countless small windows stare out full of emptiness and a few balconies strike up from the stone like claws.

The city must have been abandoned long before Camelot was built above it, the days of its glory so far in the past Arthur has difficulties comprehending the extent of it. Had some great war driven them here into hiding or had they come freely, only to eventually abandon it all behind for the sun’s blessing, rich fields, and trade?

“It’s stunning, isn’t it?” Nimueh says, startling him and Gwaine out of their awe. She looks wistful, mouth shaped into a slight smile as her eyes sweep over what remains of long ago greatness. “Nobody knows who built this place or why. Even before, despite the technology and wreath of knowledge available everywhere the archaeologists, geologists and anthropologists all together could only make guesses, no more based on truth than a child’s tale.”

A wave of quiet regret sweeps over Arthur when he thinks about all that has been wilfully hidden or just plain lost, of all the lives the knowledge could have helped and all the harmful ignorance that could have been avoided. He doesn’t know who these logists were, or what they had done - because their place was gone, along with the place that had belonged to those like him, born without the grace of magic.

xxx

Arthur feels small and insignificant standing by the doors of the tower, dwarfed by their height and width. He wishes Nimueh would just hurry up with the whole thing, but she has placed her hand on the door handle and seems to be waiting for something in utter concentration and stillness.

Carvings decorate the white wooden surface of the doors, inexplicably unworn by time. Rows and rows of figures standing in different positions, surrounded by twisting symbols. It might be a story, or maybe a message.

“It’s a nice day and all but are we going in?” Gwaine inquires. Mordred turns away from the door, eyes narrowed in serious reproach that looks almost comical on a child’s face.

Gwaine opens his mouth to say something more but the doors shudder with a deep rumble that sinks into the surrounding stone. Arthur takes half a step back.

One of the doors is pushed hallway open and the most ungroomed man Arthur has ever seen stares at them from the doorway.

“You didn’t bring him,” the man says. The tangles in his dark, grey streaked beard vibrate with his speech. “And I am not your door keeper, Nimueh.” He says her name with clear contempt, like it tastes foul on his tongue.

 _Him?_ Arthur wants to ask. It would make sense to enquire after Morgana, but the only other him with them was Merlin. Why ask after him?

“He will come, Balinor.”

Arthur has frankly had enough of listening enigmatic comments and standing outside. They have been dragged here half against their will, and now a strange man who looks like a wild prophet is keeping them standing in the doorway.

Arthur takes the door handle and wrenches the door. It’s heavy and protests against his ministrations but Arthur is strong and the door slides properly open.”

“As pleasant this is I imagine we can continue inside,” he says pointedly.

Balinor sneers at him. “The Pendragon scion. Of course.”

Arthur stops to stare at him, too puzzled to even be angry at derisive tone. “What did you call me? I’m not–“

A gurgling, painful sounding laugh breaks out from Balinor’s throat. “Nobody has told him? He doesn’t know?”

Nimueh glares. “I was going to tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Icy fingers are running on his skin. He is cold.

Balinor smirks. “That you’re the bastard son of Uther Pendragon.”

“Holy buggering fuck.” That’s Gwaine. The spearing cold has frozen Arthur’s tongue in his mouth.

Morgana knows. He is sure of it. The thought goes round and round in his head. He is aware that he can’t know that and that it’s not probably even the thing he should be most shocked about and yet it’s the only one he seems to be able to summon, together with aimless anger. Had she ever been the friend Arthur had thought her to be. A bloody tracker was one thing. This – Arthur had talked to Morgana about how he wanted to meet his father or even simply know who he was and Morgana had seemed sympathetic. If she had known – he closes his eyes and tries to force the thoughts down.

“Princess?” Gwaine’s hand appears on his shoulder. “How about we go in and sit down.”

Arthur ends up sitting on a wooden bench in the hall inside the doors. It’s hard and unstylish, clearly much newer than the city, and distinctly uncomfortable.

He focuses on his body, the warmth of his shoes, the soft clothes on his skin, the faint ache of his arm where he had hit it to the ground when they had arrived. Breathes in and out. He is here for a purpose.

“We came here for proof.” His voice sounds a little wobbly in his own ears so he makes doubly sure to square his jaw and look Nimueh in the eye.

She regards him thoughtfully for a moment, judging and calculating with the experience of centuries, something so terrible and inhuman in her that Arthur wishes he could avert his eyes, but his pride doesn’t allow him to, and he weathers it until Nimueh’s shrugs and smiles wanly.

“So you did.”

“You are not seriously going to show it to these two.” Balinor’s voice is flat and cutting.

Arthur does his best imitation of Morgana’s – curse her to the deepest pits of hell – most withering glare. “Excuse you?”

Balinor ignores him completely.

“I am,” Nimueh says.

Balinor opens his mouth. Closes it with a snap, then opens it again.

“I’m deadly serious,” Nimueh repeats.

Mordred tugs at Balinor’s tattered sleeve, first time looking like the child he is with his wobbling bottom lip. Balinor is not apparently a complete bastard, because he sighs and takes Mordred’s hand.

Nimueh gestures to the stairs. “This way.” Then she glances down on her long dress ruefully. “I wish I had worn something less dramatic. I just couldn’t resist.”

They climb three floors of narrow, slippery stairs. Any more and Arthur would have just told Nimueh to use her teleportation magic.

Nimueh takes them to a small side room with one tall window. There are several chests, crates and shelves scattered around in utter chaos. Thick books that have failed to fit anywhere sit on top of every plausible and not-so-plausible surface. In one corner sits a pile of old electronics, useless in the current world. Everything seems to be in amazingly good shape, doubtlessly protected by some complicated magic.

“Here.” Nimueh seems to know her chaos well, lifting out a crate half hidden under everything else.

Arthur and Gwaine inch closer to peer to the crate over Nimueh’s shoulders. It’s only about half full of newspaper articles and photographs. Arthur blinks, takes a second look at the photograph upside down and blinks again. There is no way. He snatches it to his hands, stares at it.

It’s a picture of a dragon, surrounded by group of people. Some in white coats, most with protective eye screens and thick gloves. One person in the front is holding a blowtorch. The dragon is large with scales of glimmering gold and with wings with translucent membranes – actually, they don’t even look like membranes but rather like shimmering fields of energy. It’s hard to say from static picture, though. The eyes are strange too, like glass balls lit from inside.

Arthur stares at the picture, takes in the little details until he is sure. The dragon is a machine.

“What is–?”

Nimueh turns, her sweet smelling breath falling on Arthur’s cheek.

“That, my dear, is what they made to kill the immortals.”

“A dragon?” Gwaine asks incredulously. “That’s – rather cool actually. But also completely batshit crazy.”

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Arthur’s eyes stay glued on the photograph. It could be fake. It could be real and it still would not prove that these things could kill an immortal or that they still existed.

Nimueh hands him a pile of newspaper articles. The one on top proclaims “THE THREAT OF IMMORTALS FINALLY REMOVED”. Arthur flips through them; “Seven immortals killed in dragonfire!” “Scientists explain how the dragons kill what cannot be killed.”

Gwaine whistles quietly. “That is pretty convincing.”

“But I assume you’re not just biding your time with your dragon.”

Nimueh nods.

“We have a good guess about the location of one.” Gently she lifts a book bound in blue leather out of the crate. “The problem is getting into the base and making it work, which is also incidentally what we need you for.”

She opens the book, revealing white, lined pages full of tiny handwritten text. There is a date on top of the page, suggesting a diary, but Arthur can’t make out what the twisting, uneven letters are saying.

“What is this?” he asks.

“Project diary for one of the dragons. It has everything from the beginning; how the building goes, all the problems they faced. How it was used. And where it was stored away.”

“They actually wrote that down?”

Arthur agrees with Gwaine’s disbelief. Writing down strategically important information into an easily movable small book seems foolish. Not that he knows what kind of security measures there were around it once upon a time.

“Almost,” Nimueh says. “They gave the name of the military storage. It took awhile, but we have managed to pinpoint an approximate location based on other sources and my memories.”

“That – sounds promising,” Arthur admits. It is. It really is. A weapon they could use to threaten the Triad and strip them of power would change everything, and Arthur is starting to hope.

A quick, rhythmic thud of steps pushes in from the outside, and they all turn to look, tense. Mordred bursts through the door takes a look at them all and speaks out loud:

“The Triad got her!”

Morgana.

“Who?”

“Morgana!”

Mordred’s bottom lip is trembling, Arthur notes dully. It’s a strange amount of investment in a woman he has never met.

“What about Emrys and the girl?” Nimueh asks sharply.

Mordred looks at her, apparently back to his silent communication. _No_ , Arthur wants to say. Morgana is too clever. She would have been prepared for everything, nobody could have managed to take her down. And Merlin and Gwen would have protected her to death.

Nimueh curses out loud. “I need to scry for them, we have to find them before they get caught as well.” She takes one look at Arthur and his expression must be bad because she turns to speak to Gwaine instead.

“The Triad has taken Morgana, but Emrys and Guinevere are on the run. I’m going to try to find out where they are and where they are going so we can get to them before they get caught.”

“How are we–“

“How do you know she has been captured?” Arthur interrupts Gwaine, because it doesn’t make any bloody sense. How could they know?

Nimueh has hurried half-out of the door, but stops to give Arthur a sharp glare. “We left an observer in. She has a telepathic link with Mordred that works even over a distance. Now can we please get on with this?” The grit of her teeth behind her thinned lips is audible. She really is worried, and that does nothing to ease Arthur’s mind.

“C’mon, mate,” Gwaine says tightly, putting an unwelcome hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He shakes it off.

They make their way down the stairs, then into one of the rooms on the bottom floor through a red drape hanging over a doorway. The room is completely stripped of any furniture and instead in the middle of the floor opens a round chasm that seems to drop into total darkness. Nimueh walks right over the edge, but doesn’t fall out of sight like Arthur half expected and a closer look reveals a steep staircase curving down.

Arthur hesitates a moment until at the bottom Nimueh lifts her hand and a ball of bright light appears to illuminate the way. Though Arthur can’t see her face he can imagine the flash of gold in her eyes accompanying the strange magic. If Arthur hadn’t known better he might have believed her to be a goddess. He fights back a snigger and wonders if this is the beginnings of hysteria, but dismisses the idea because he can’t even quite summon up fear; all he has is a bucketful of empty disbelief.

The air is misty and cool on his skin and when he strains his ears he can hear the quiet ripple of water flowing somewhere close, though out of the sphere of Nimueh’s light.

There is something else at the edge of light and darkness; a misshapen stone basin rising straight from the ground like a huge mushroom with an upwards curving hat. When the light drifts closer the top of the basin shimmers – it is filled to the brim with water. Nimueh runs a gentle hand along the edges.

“Do you have anything belonging either to Emrys or Guinevere?” she asks.

Arthur starts to shake his head slowly but stops mid movement, hands reaching for his belt and finding Merlin’s dagger. He fishes it out from the belt loop.

“Will this do?” he asks, strangely hopeful.

“I have Gwen’s gun too,” Gwaine volunteers. “Though I’m not sure she’d appreciate it if you were to drop it into a bowl.”

“It’s not a bowl,” Nimueh says in a tone that very strongly implies Gwaine should get incinerated for even suggesting such a thing. “And the knife alone will do fine if they’re still together.”

She takes the knife by the edge with a careless looking motion which turns slow and precise as she lowers it to the water.

“If you’re not going to stay quiet I’m going to throw you out,” she adds, bending over the basin so that the tips of her hair ghost just above the water surface.

Arthur glances at Gwaine, who gives a minuscule shrug. Seems like their only course of action is to stand still like dumb sheep, waiting for someone else to take the lead. The idea sits badly with Arthur, but he doesn’t have a better plan so he sucks up his rebellious streak and watches.

Nimueh’s eyes glow faintly, and even the water seems to be emitting a soft blueish glow. Nimueh’s lips part, her chest rising and falling more rapidly, her breathing becoming slowly audible. For the slightest moment Arthur feels like he can hear something else too; running feet and Merlin’s voice, but the noise fades and a second later he is half sure he imagined it.

Nimueh’s head jerks downwards and her hair falls to the water. The glow climbs up the strands until she abruptly stands up and all the light in the cave goes out.

Gwaine yelps in surprise and Nimueh’s ball of light flickers back on, revealing Nimueh who is glaring at Gwaine from under her delicate eyebrows.

“It is very lucky for you, Mister Green, that I was already finished,” she says. Gwaine gulps audibly, but Arthur hasn’t got it in himself to find the situation amusing.

“So?” he asks.

“I managed to pinpoint a relatively stable point in their future where they will stop to consider their options. We need to be there for that time point.”

Arthur is glad when she stops to press the knife back into his hands.

 

**MERLIN VI**

They have stopped to draw breath into a shadow of an alleyway, the high, windowless stonewall cold against their sweaty backs, and his magic prickling under the strain of the feeble concealment he is holding.

Merlin has no idea where to take them. His own flat is probably under constant watch. Gwen’s might be safe for the moment but sooner or later she will be identified as the shooter and after that Morgause’s troops will be watching like hawks and the same is probably true for Arthur’s flat.

He might have had experience with close escapes and dangerous situations but that had been completely different; he had only had himself to look after and nobody had ever known who he was or who he worked for. They might have had suspicions but nothing warrant full scale operation like this one – and Merlin is utterly lost. It’s all made worse by the expectant look in Gwen’s eyes.

“Is there anywhere you could hide?” he asks.

Gwen shifts, turning her eyes finally away and shakes her head slowly. “I – no. Nowhere they wouldn’t know to look for me.”

Merlin closes his eyes, trying to force his brain to focus enough to find a solution. A few places pop into his mind but he has to discard them one by one. He is too tired to get them through any heavy security or too many curious eyes.

>> Emrys. >> Merlin almost jumps out of his skin. >> Stay put, Nimueh will be there soon with Arthur and Gwaine. >>

>> Why should I trust you? >> Merlin thinks back forcefully while trying to evaluate the nearby escape routes.

>> Do you have anyone else to trust? >> Mordred’s annoyingly clear voice asks, and Merlin has to admit to himself that no he fucking doesn’t. Apart maybe from Arthur. And Gwen. At least when it came to wanting Morgana freed.

“Merlin?” Gwen asks, looking like the paragon saint of sincere concern. Apparently having telepathic conversations tended to have some unfortunate side-effects on one’s body language.

“It’s nothing. Let’s wait here for a moment.”

She gives him a sceptical look and adjusts her hold of the gun.

“Not a bad illusion for someone so tired,” a female voices says conversationally from behind them. They flip around as one, Merlin preparing his last throwing knife and Gwen aiming her weapon.

Nimueh stands in the doorway of a rundown wooden door, Mordred at her side. Gwen lowers her weapon. Merlin stares because he has checked that doorway before and it was supposed to be safe; it leads to a small, abandoned food cellar that has become useless in the wake of the magical refrigerators, and it has only one way in and out. But he is too tired and too glad to see Arthur and Gwaine appearing behind Nimueh to care overly much.

“Thank fuck!” Gwen says empathically and Merlin agrees with the sentiment, though Arthur’s pale and drawn face gives him a pause.

Their eyes meet, hold. The lost look on Arthur’s face is replaced by hardness and accusation creeps into his stare.

“You really let them capture her,” Arthur says, voice cutting.

Gwen clutches her hands into desperate fists. “Arthur–“

“Later,” Merlin says curtly. “We have more important things to worry about right now.”

Like not getting caught and freeing Morgana, because Merlin will not let her be executed. He will not fail her like he failed Uther.

“I can only manage two of you this time,” Nimueh says, lips pursed like this amount of mortal fallibility offends her. “Gwaine, take Gwen –“

“No,” Merlin interrupts. “Gwen goes with you.”

“I’ll come with you then.” Arthur’s expression is unreadable; Merlin considers whether he should be worried about getting knifed in the back, but he decides Arthur is far too honourable and straightforward for that. He is more likely to challenge Merlin into a duel.

Nimueh stares at them quietly for a moment before nodding. “Make for the subway entrance near Mercian market.”

That’s about – Merlin makes the quick calculations in his head – an hour's walk away, on the almost opposite side of the inner circle. No actual subway line exists, because it had never been built, the only remaining mark of the project the entrances that had been mined into the ground, only to be closed off for unknown reasons.

“Do you know where the entrance is?” Arthur asks him.

Merlin nods. There is nothing there, apart from a temporary hideout, but they have a little choice but to trust Nimueh.

“Good.”

xxx

Arthur is quiet for the longest time, shadowing closely behind Merlin, who is doing his best to keep them out of sight while both appreciating and hating the silence. It lets him concentrate his dwindling powers, but at the same time his neck prickles where he imagines Arthur’s judgemental stare landing.

They see officers only once, hurrying past an alleyway Merlin drew them to hide. There are six of them, none that Merlin recognises, and not one spares a glance towards their feeble hiding place. For all he knows they might not even be looking for Merlin and Gwen. It could have been useful to separate and capture one of them for interrogation about the situation, but he is too tired to take the risk.

Merlin glances over his shoulder and startles at how close Arthur is standing, eyes surrounded by deep shadows that give him an unpleasant ghostly look.

Merlin finds himself unable to hold his tongue any longer. “I’ll get her back,” he blurts out earnestly. “I might have failed Uther but I will not fail her, I swear.”

He sees the consequences failure would have behind his eyelids; Morgana forced to her knees, the Sword of Justice whistling in the air. He shudders.

Arthur’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “We will get her back,” he says, but the confidence in his voice wavers under the words, breaking Merlin’s heart just a little. If Uther hadn’t had Merlin in his use, if Aulfric Sidhe and Bayard Stafford had lived, maybe Morgana, Arthur and Gwen would all have stayed safe and happy. It’s a useless train of thought and yet it makes him sick in his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he says, closing his eyes. “I should have prevented it, but she refused to leave–”

Arthur chuckles dryly and Merlin opens his eyes in surprise to meet Arthur’s wry gaze. “I know what she is like.” He pats Merlin’s shoulder awkwardly and withdraws. Merlin is tempted to follow him, simply bury his head on Arthur’s shoulder to hide from the world and his exhaustion. Unfortunately that’s not who he can be according to the cards fate has dealt for him.

He tells himself to get a grip. This is not the time or place to break down like a newborn after realising what a horrible world it has been brought to. He is a weapon, a shadow on the rooftops, nothing more or less than a powerful tool wielded by powerful masters.

He squares his shoulders and tightens his hold on the web of magic that has started to fray on the edges.

“C’mon,” he says and turns to continue their journey. “We have a lot of planning to do.”

xxx

The Mercian market is buzzing with people doing their daily shopping. The area is stark contrast to most of the city; instead of quiet people hurrying around narrow, claustrophobic streets there is room, light, and noise.

The people pay them no mind as they glide past the stalls and tents. One woman even bumps into Merlin and continues on her way with a barely mumbled excuse.

“Rude,” Arthur comments quietly.

Merlin shrugs and sidesteps a man and woman holding hands. “It’s not their fault. My magic is actively telling them we’re not important enough to pay attention to.”

Arthur glances after them, a frown on his face. “What if I tried to talk to them?” he asks.

“I haven’t exactly tried,” he says, voice as wry as he can muster. “Seeing as the whole point is not to be noticed. But I suppose they would just appear really distracted since their mind would keep drifting off to other things.”

“So if you needed to talk to someone without being noticed what would you do?”

Merlin tries to make out Arthur’s expression from the corner of his eye, but Arthur’s has dropped a step behind making any kind of study on his features near impossible without stopping and turning around. Not exactly discreet, though Merlin is tempted because he really has no clue what’s going on in Arthur’s head. Maybe it’s simple curiosity, or maybe he is trying to make small talk. Merlin thinks he might have preferred it when Arthur was staying quiet; his abated headache is threatening to return with full force. The overly strong smells coming from an herb stall they pass make him wince.

“I’d use a different illusion, something that would simply make my features unmemorable or completely change my appearance,” he says, his voice coming out a bit sharper than he means it to.

Arthur jogs two steps forward to peer at Merlin’s face. Merlin looks away, annoyed.

“Don’t go collapsing on me now,” Arthur says, but his voice is gentler than his words. “We’re almost there, aren’t we?”

Merlin nods. They need to take a turn through the side street selling clothes, mostly hidden away in tents, and then they’ll be at the parking lot of the area where the closed entrance is located.

A cold sweat is breaking down at his neck, and his magic feels distant and frayed, like someone has been slowly tugging it away from him without caring about the damage caused. He doesn’t really even register walking past the last turns, but the moment they’re standing in the shadow of the entrance his hold wavers so badly that he staggers, catching his balance against the wall.

“Shit,” he whispers at himself.

Arthur’s catches his arm, offering support.

“There is nobody around, I’m sure you can–“ Merlin lets the illusion break even before Arthur has finished the sentence. It makes him feel marginally better instantly, though he is still exhausted.

They make their way in from a ventilation shaft that has been half-heartedly locked with a magic resistant iron lock. Merlin could have picked it with his eyes closed, which he essentially does just to escape the headache. Luckily the shaft is just the right size to allow an easy, controlled descent and the other end is not closed at all; in the light of the small lightstone Arthur flicks on it takes them less than five minutes before they’re standing in the half-built platform ending in an unevenly mined stonewall.

“What now?” Arthur asks after a moment.

Merlin shrugs and drops to sit down less than gracefully. “We wait, I suppose.”

Arthur circles the area twice, on occasion stopping to poke the walls suspiciously, before following Merlin’s example and sitting down next to him.

“So?” Merlin asks after a moment of heavy silence, wanting to shut down his mind full of images of Morgana falling down, down and down, beyond Merlin’s help. He shudders. “What happened with Nimueh?”

Arthur’s jaw works silently for a moment and he flexes his fingers stiltedly. Merlin doesn’t think it’s a promising sign.

“They’re hiding in an underground city.” Merlin blinks. “She showed us–“ Arthur pauses to rub the arch of his nose thoughtfully. Merlin vaguely notes that he should not find Arthur’s nose attractive, no matter how regal its shape is. Hell.

“She had evidence, a journal and newspaper articles, about mechanical dragons, weapons, built with science and magic to kill immortals.”

Merlin jumps to sit straighter, eyes scanning Arthur for some kind of sign that he is yanking Merlin’s chain, but Arthur’s face remains stoic, even troubled.

“Dragons?” he manages.

A flicker of tired amusement lights at the back of Arthur’s eyes. “Dragons,” he confirms.

It could be a ruse; the whole thing certainly sounds too strange to be true, though paradoxically that is what is almost enough to convince Merlin that it isn’t. Nimueh has no obvious reason for trying to trick them and Merlin has a feeling she could probably come up with much more plausible lies if she tried.

A shift in the magic around them makes him glance around. It’s subtle but familiar–

He stops, closes his eyes, opens them again. A portion of the rough stone wall has disappeared, revealing a tunnel. It must have been an illusion, but one he had been unable to detect which is certainly unsettling.

He shivers, and seeing Nimueh to walk out of the tunnel doesn’t make him feel any more at ease. He has never seen anyone to possess such diverse and strong gifts – her magic is something altogether different from what most of them know.

**ARTHUR VI**

Despite the giant emptiness welling in the underground city, few of the rooms are actually habitable and Gwaine ends up sharing a room with Mordred and Arthur with Merlin. Gwen gets to share with a mousy girl named Sefa who is in charge of feeding them. As far as Arthur can tell they're the only humans around – Balinor is curiously absent when everyone else piles to grab some bread and water from the kitchens.

The room they're directed to afterwards is in the fourth floor of the tower, behind a wobbly wooden door. There is barely enough room for the two narrow beds and one empty chest. Arthur stares at it mournfully.

"I'd sell my soul for some clean and comfortable clothes," he says.

Merlin yawns.

"I’m not sure anyone would take you up for that, but I can try and get some stuff for us tomorrow. Right now your only choice is probably to strip out of those," he makes a general gesture at Arthur's formal clothes, but there is a faint pink tinge on his cheeks that suggests that he isn't feeling quite as nonchalant as he would like Arthur to think.

Arthur smiles faintly and drops down to the bed. If they hadn't both been so exhausted he might have felt embarrassed, but at the moment he really cares about nothing else than getting out of the bloody vest and sleeping and forgetting about Morgana, Uther and everything. Don't think about it, he warns himself and tugs the laces of the vest open with more vigour that is most likely necessary.

"According to Nimueh Uther was my father," he blurts out without really meaning to, watching how Merlin freezes, boot halfway out of his foot.

Merlin stares at him, then slowly removes the boot rest of the way and sets it aside. "Do you think she is right?"

"She–" he swallows, looking down to his hands to escape the sympathy in Merlin's eyes. "She might be. My mother worked for him  for years, even before my birth and it would explain why she refused to tell me even in the end."

"Is she–?"

"Yeah." That's all he really wants to say about it. "Since I am his second child I guess that makes my existence doubly illegal." He chuckles humourlessly. "A cursed child born without magic." He didn't really think that, of course, but–

"No," Merlin says, standing up. "We both know the laws of magic are bollocks, and the one child policy permits one child per one mother, not that it probably is any better solution. You have just as great right to your life as any of us, don’t doubt that." His eyes are bright and intense – Arthur imagines he can see specks of gold dancing in them.

It's not just that though. It's the silence of his mother, Morgana's lies which he can't even be properly angry about since she might die, all squeezing breath out of his lungs painfully.

"Arthur?" Merlin asks carefully, but he can't answer, sure that even the smallest muttered sound would be enough to break him apart.

Merlin steps forward and Arthur resents him fiercely for it, even more so when a hand comes to rest at the nape of his neck, pulling his head gently against Merlin's stomach. Arthur's breath stutters and the tears of pain, exhaustion and anger that he has been holding back fall to his cheeks silently. He lets himself hold and be held, but he refuses to let the screams and large sobs waiting in his chest out, instead focusing on Merlin's hand petting his hair.

Somehow they end up lying on the bed next to each other even though there is barely enough room for one person. Arthur's cheeks are finally drying and his breathing has returned somewhat under his control.

"You should probably go to your own bed," he tries half-heartedly.

Merlin cracks one eye open, only inches away from Arthur's face. "Shan't. Knackered."

Arthur doesn't argue.

xxx

Waking up is more than awkward. Or at first it's nice, Merlin's body warm and inviting against his, but then his brain catches up with his cock that is showing its interest by poking against Merlin's thigh, and he almost falls off the bed in his haste to scramble away. At least his mortification is quick medicine to the problem in his pants, but it makes him feel bad and it certainly doesn’t help when Merlin's eyes snap open and the peace of sleep on his face is replaced by careful blankness.

He gets up without looking at Arthur and moves to his side of the room.

"We should go to see if there anything to eat," Merlin says, false cheer in his voice.

"Yes," Arthur says and tries not to grimace at himself too obviously.

xxx

Sefa receives them in the kitchens with an enthusiastic, "Good morning!", but after a good look at them her smile turns unsure.

"I have some porridge and berries?"

"Thank you, Sefa," Merlin says, voice laced heavily with appreciation. Arthur knows instantly it's Merlin's magic at work and glowers at him darkly before giving Sefa his most charming smile and reaching for the food. She looks even more confused after that.

Arthur thanks his lucky stars when he spots Gwaine and Gwen sitting on the table, and true enough Gwaine manages to keep the conversation going pretty much single-handedly. Arthur has mostly tuned him out when he catches Balinor's name.

What really draws his attention is Merlin's reaction: he drops his spoon to the porridge and pales so quickly that Arthur is afraid he might pass out.

"Balinor?" Merlin echoes.

Gwaine quirks his eyebrow. "Yes. He was here yesterday. A wiry, pale man with dark hair and beard. Do you know him?"

Merlin stares at Gwaine for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open, before the expression disappears, replaced by a calm smile.

"Sounds remarkably like my absent father."

Gwen lets out a little gasp and Arthur's isn't sure if he should laugh. Universe is clearly fucking with them all.

"Woah," Gwaine says. "Could be a coincidence of course, but an absent father?"

"Left me and my mum when I was six with little explanation," Merlin says with false pleasantness. Bloody hell but Arthur hates it when he uses his magic like this. "Haven't seen him since."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Gwen offers, but Merlin shakes his head.

"There isn't much to say, but it's alright. I guess we'll find out whether it's him eventually."

They finish their breakfast in awkward silence that even Gwaine doesn’t seem keen to break.

The moment their plates are empty Nimueh sails in like summoned by some sort of spell and awkwardness is suddenly last of their worries. She is wearing black shorts, tights, high boots and a hooded sweater, and looks so completely alien that it takes Arthur a moment to recognise her. Arthur thinks she notices his stare, because she lifts her chin in a subtly challenge at him.

"If you're finished I'd quite like to get down to business?" She doesn't wait for an answer, turning to Sefa. “Sefa, darling, please gather the dishes.”

From the corner of his eye Arthur notices two figures appearing to the doorway. Balinor and Mordred. Mordred sneaks inside but Balinor hesitates, eyes glued on Merlin. The strange earnest expression on his face is all the confirmation Arthur needs to know he is really Merlin’s father, and even the physical similarities are obvious now that he knows to look for them: their colouring, build and bone structure all hold startling similarities.

If he had stood next to Uther looking into a mirror would it have been similarly obvious?

The screech Merlin’s teeth make when they grind against each other jerks him away from his own thoughts.

“Merlin–“ Balinor starts, taking a hesitant step inside.

Merlin cuts him off. “Father.” His voice is flat, dripping with scalding acid, and he is looking at Nimueh. “So. Business?”

In the strained silence that falls Balinor moves to take a chair and Gwen clears her throat.

“Morgana has to be our top priority.”

Arthur nods his agreement. “This isn’t up for negotiation.”

Nimueh smiles her unpleasant smile. “Of course. However, our best bet to get to her is during the trial. She is probably being held in the dungeons of the palace.” She purses her lips sourly. “Even I wouldn’t be able to break through there.”

Merlin nods, face tight. “The trial really is our only chance.”

“It will be held as soon as they can manage, but we should have a week,” Gwen says, chewing her lip. “And we need all the time we can get. If we could get the council to ask for a full report before agreeing to the trial we could probably delay it by a further week.”

Delay is not exactly good news for Morgana either but if they only get one shot he would rather get it right. Arthur thinks a bit longer unpleasant imprisonment is preferable to execution.

“We should talk to Mithian about that,” he says.

Gwen nods, but Merlin doesn’t look particularly keen. “Are you sure we can trust her?”

It’s a legitimate concern, certainly, but the same could be said about anyone. “Do we have a choice? Morgana seemed to be ready to trust her and I doubt she did it without carefully investigating her first.”

"We should use her," Nimueh agrees and doesn’t appear to care in the slightest about the distaste her wording evokes in the rest of them.

"She is a hunter so she can also give us valuable information about outside,” Gwaine says.

Balinor wrinkles his nose. “There is no need.”

They all, apart from Merlin who is playing with his sleeve, wait for him to elaborate in vain.

"But how do we make contact with her?" Gwen asks after a moment. "They're probably searching for all of us."

Probably, yes, but the force is not actually terribly large. While Arthur would be ready to stake his life on their flats being under watch he’s nearly as confident that they won’t get caught in the streets as long as they’re careful.

“It would have to be one of us that goes to her,” he says. “Someone she knows for sure is with Morgana." Gwen shoots him an unhappy look, no doubt knowing that he is about to volunteer, but this is his fight and he won't let others fight it for him, and so despite Gwen's disapproval he says, "I'll go."

He is not prepared for Merlin's vehement reaction. "You're not going out there alone," Merlin snaps. "I'm coming with you."

"No," says Nimueh, and Merlin whirls at her.

"No?" he asks, his quiet and smooth voice running down Arthur's spine.

"You will go to search for the dragon. It has been programmed to be activated only by a very specific magical signatures. My visions have led me to believe that you can do it."

Arthur frowns. "Do you mean there is a chance we can't activate it?"

Nimueh tilts her head. The motion seems mocking, and Arthur has a feeling she finds the question both amusing and annoying.

"Of course." The vowels drag on her tongue. "There are million ways this could fail."

"This is ridiculous," Merlin says. "We'll break Morgana out by ourselves and leave you to your dragons."

"I think we should focus on breaking Morgana out before anything else," Gwen says. "Splitting up makes us weaker which we can't afford."

"But at least splitting up means that we can't all be caught at once. And we might need the dragon to break Morgana free," Gwaine points out. The bastard actually looks cheerful.

Arthur has to resist the temptation to bury his head in his hands. He has never missed Morgana more than he does now.

" _If_ we agree to this who would go with Merlin?" he asks.

"I'm staying with you," Gwen says quickly, then gives Merlin a guilty glance. "It's not that I don't like you because I really do but Arthur is like a brother to me and–"

Merlin lifts his hand to silence her, a genuine looking smile playing on his lips. "Don't worry, I get it."

The smile dies the moment Nimueh speaks. "Merlin will go with Balinor. He has studied the magic needed extensively and can guide Merlin through it as well as actually navigating you that far."

Merlin chair screeches loudly as he stands up. "I'm not going with him," Merlin says, a cloud of thunder hanging at the edge of his words. He stares into Nimueh's eyes for a moment, then marches out. Balinor tries to reach for him, but Merlin dodges without sparing him a glance.

Arthur suppresses a sigh. Nimueh’s sour expression makes him realise something. “It was never Morgana you needed, was it?”

“Did I say it was?” Nimueh counters. “Don’t worry, I do value her as a future ally even if Merlin is much more crucial to our plans.”

Arthur catches up to Merlin in the stairs, but looking at the tense line of Merlin's shoulders he finds himself unable to say anything. Instead he follows Merlin quietly into the room and watches how he slumps down to sit on his unused bed, then shoots Arthur a wry, if definitely strained smile.

"I'll tell Nimueh that Balinor simply needs to give you written instructions and send Gwaine with you," Arthur says, staring at the corner of the bed. "Well, she should go, really. She is the ultimate expert."

Merlin chuckles dryly. "She is probably the only person who I'd like to have as a company as little as my – Balinor."

Arthur considers settling down next to Merlin but thinks better of it and sits down on his own bed. There is still only about a foot's length between their knees.

"I," Merlin starts, then falls quiet.

"You?" Arthur prompts.

"Don't be an arse."

Arthur rolls his eyes. He had simply been helping Merlin along.

"So, yes. _I_ ," Merlin continues, stressing the I, "will do it. I guess it would be good to talk things through with him, hear his excuses. Then I can forget about him, you know?"

Arthur doesn't know. He had always wished a chance to meet his father and as a child had secretly entertained fanciful dreams of a future where his father came to find him. Real world never works like that, he knows now, and yet he would have given anything for a chance to talk to Uther.

"Maybe he had a reason," he finds himself saying, then winces at himself. "It might not excuse him, but maybe it could help you understand. I'm not saying you should forgive him. But well. I know I would have liked to ask some questions from my father."

Merlin's eyes widen. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

There is a soft tap from the door and Gwen peers in cautiously. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I thought of something you should probably know."

"Were they snogging?" pipes up Gwaine's voice from behind her. It's quickly followed by a muffled curse undoubtedly caused by Gwen's elbow.

"Kindly keep your unprofessional and inappropriate comments to yourself," Arthur says, cheeks warm. From annoyance. He does note that Merlin looks a bit pink too, though.

"In any case," Gwen says, stepping inside the door, dragging reluctant Gwaine with her. She waits until the door has closed with a dry creak. "I have been working on something with Morgana that I think we could use, especially if we're splitting up. It's a long range communicator, or actually the range is theoretically limitless, working telepathically and I thought it could be pretty useful?"

She looks at them expectantly. Arthur is tempted to ask why he hadn't known about this, but he swallows his annoyance to consider the frankly amazing implications. Limitless range, compared to the normally achieved maximum of approximately one mile sounds almost too good to be true. Even telepaths needed to carefully establish the link beforehand if they wanted to contact anyone not in their immediate vicinity.

“Wow,” Merlin says.

Arthur chooses a bit more practical approach. "Can we get to it?" he asks.

"Hopefully," Gwen says. "It's in a safe in the factory."

Arthur frowns; the safe is located in the basement, behind several locked doors and security checks. It seems near impossible that they could get to it.

"We don't have an access, now do we?" he points out. Judging by the hurt look Gwen gives him it came out a bit more meanly than he really meant it to.

"No we don't," Gwen says. "But Isolde does."

"We won't involve any more people," Arthur snaps, rising to his feet, not quite believing that Gwen of all people is suggesting this.

"I bet you month's meat rations that she is already involved," Gwen says calmly, crossing her arms. "Think about it. Her little sister was executed because she didn't manifest, remember?"

Arthur rakes his mind back. Isolde White. A sister – he could remember nothing about a sister, unless – An old piece of news climbs up in his mind. It had been before his own tests, when they had still been desperately hoping he was only a late bloomer. But he remembered the posters listing the names of the people who had failed to show any magical talent. Nine names, and he remembered them all. One of them had been Elena White, followed by the word stamped in red: EXILE.

"She was exiled," he says.

"It's the same thing, isn't it?" Gwen points out, stepping past him to slump down to the bed. "The point stands: she has no reason to love the Triad. If you think about it there is nobody in our section who is particularly keen on the authorities. I bet Morgana did it on purpose."

"To protect me."

Gwen gives him a chastising look. "She loves you, Arthur."

"Well, I'm glad she loves me enough to respect me and my opinion and be honest with me."

Merlin shifts uneasily. "This is not really helping. It sounds like we could really use these devices and if this Isolde is ready to get them for us–"

"But," Arthur tries. "She only got married, and she could want to have a child. We have no right to jeopardise that!"

"I think that's her decision, isn't it?" Gwen says gently. There isn't much he can say to that without sounding like a hypocrite.

**MERLIN VII**

Nimueh is less than pleased with their vague explanation about needing to collect equipment, but they all agree that it's better if no one from Nimueh's group knows about the communicators, and since they're not her prisoners, as Gwaine offhandedly muses, she can't really stop them. In the end she even grudgingly sends Mordred to guide them to the entrance closest to Gwen's and Arthur's apartments and by proxy the factory.

The entrance in question happens to be an old well, mould and dirt clinging to the moist stone wall in an unappealing mat. The tunnel joins the well maybe four feet above the bottom, which is only barely covered by a muddy, foul smelling water.

"I bloody well hope there is a magically hidden ladder there," Arthur mumbles and privately Merlin very much agrees.

Mordred peers at them with his large owlish eyes and shakes his head.

"How are we supposed to get out then?" Arthur asks snappishly. He has been a real ray of sunshine for the whole day and while Merlin gets it, he really does, it’s starting to get annoying.

Mordred takes a step to stand dangerously close to the edge and reaches out, drawing back a rope that had apparently been hidden outside their field of vision. Then he points at the uneven stones on the wall that couldn’t be described as steps even in the most vague and inclusive sense of the word.

Arthur looks like he has swallowed a lemon while Gwaine is leaning forward to get a better look. Gwen seems simply determined; Merlin loves Gwen.

"Maybe Arthur should go first?" he suggests. "He is probably the heaviest so if the rope holds him it will hold us as well."

He does not quite realise how that sounds until Arthur's bottom lip curls sourly, and by then the only thing he can do is to bury his face in his hands – which unfortunately is extremely unhelpful.

"Are you saying that I'm fat, Merlin?" Arthur asks venomously.

"No!" While Arthur has certain roundness to his calves he is actually quite unfairly fit, but Merlin is not going to say that out loud.

Arthur continues glaring for a second, but then it morphs into a smirk that makes Merlin both want to hit him and kiss Arthur's mouth stupid. He hates his brain.

"Well I suppose compared to your scrawny body even a rat would appear heavy. Some of us have actual muscles." The bastard actually flexes.

"Arthur," Gwen chides. "Instead of acting like a five year old you could show your excellent muscles off by climbing up that rope."

Arthur frowns at them and takes the rope from Mordred's hand, giving it a couple of doubtful tugs.

"I swear if this rope doesn't hold I will sell Nimueh's whereabouts to the Triad without a second thought."

Mordred doesn't seem particularly pleased about Arthur’s words – actually if Merlin would have had to guess his thoughts from the dark look settling on his face he would have said Mordred was plotting Arthur's gruesome murder, though Arthur seems completely oblivious to this.

"Thank you for your help," Gwen says hastily, giving Mordred a small smile. "We'll be back soon." She waves at him and Mordred responds with a slow, thoughtful nod. What a strange child.

While the rope does hold while they all climb up, the wall is exactly as slippery and disgusting as it looks, and they all end up making some contact with it. Gwen is particularly pissed off when she manages to get green stains on her dress despite carefully tying it up around her waist, and Arthur appears to be incapable of stopping combing his hair for microscopic pieces of dirt.

After some heavy debating they send Gwen and Gwaine, wrapped in a simple illusion of insignificance, to a small corner shop selling clothes since they don't dare to risk their flats. Gwen only relents when Arthur points out that she does not want any of them choosing her underwear.

xxx

The factory is surrounded by a stone wall topped up with a rusty barbed wire. Climbing is easy, and the barbed wire falls aside with a easy clip. There are few trees standing on the other side, providing some cover, though their branches are sparse and high. Arthur has no right to look so affronted over Merlin's muttered opinions about useless security.

They find a sheltered fire door and Merlin picks the lock and checks for wards before stepping forward but Arthur pulls him back before he can step in. It almost sends him sprawling backwards on his arse.

"What the hell?" he snaps.

Arthur smirks. "Little bit of gratefulness wouldn't go amiss, seeing as I just stopped you from triggering the alarm." He points at a hole in the middle of the doorframe. "That's where the motion sensor is."

"You have a motion sensor at the fire doors," Merlin says flatly, though mentally he is kicking himself for not being more careful.

"Of course we do," Arthur says. "We don't actually want to get robbed, you know."

"Good for you. Can we duck under it?" He looks the doorway over carefully. As far as he can tell there is nothing else unusual about the doorframes or the threshold.

"Let me check." Arthur kneels to touch the edge of the doorframe with his fingertips, eyes closing in concentration. It must be hard to try to control magic that isn't inherently part of him. To Merlin his magic is an instinctive sense or an arm, and living without it would be like – well, losing a limb.

"Weight sensors," Arthur says. "I could disable them, but as long as we don't lean on it or step on the threshold we'll be fine regardless."

"Alright," Merlin says, measuring the gap under the movement sensor before carefully stepping through.

Arthur follows somewhat less gracefully and tries to make up for it by gesturing imperiously towards the staircase. “This way,” he says.

"Shocking," Merlin mutters under his breath. There literally isn't anywhere else they could go.

"You can take us to Isolde if you'd rather I didn't show the way," Arthur says snidely from the first step.

Merlin sighs. "Your powers of guidance are unparalleled, my lord. I'll just focus on keeping us hidden."

"One would think all that focusing would stop you from making unnecessary comments."

"One would be right. This is why I only make necessary comments."

Arthur throws him an exasperated look. Merlin smiles back innocently.

xxx

The tension inside could be cut into slices, grilled and served from a stick. Every person they encounter seems to have an invisible pack of bloodthirsty predators at their heels; they appear from behind a door or corner eyeing their surroundings wildly while trying to make themselves as small and unthreatening as possible by hunching into themselves, then speeding forward towards their destination. The panicky and suspicious air is so strong that Merlin strengthens his illusion just in case. Suspicion and knowledge are the worst enemies of false reality.

The more hunched the employees walking past appear the more Arthur's back straightens and jaw hardens. It must be hard to see the havoc wrought on people's everyday lives, but that will not stop Merlin from murdering Arthur in twelve and half different creative ways if he ends up giving them away. Inconspicuous is really not something Arthur does well and Merlin can only imagine how much Morgana and Gwen must have worried for his safety.

Arthur takes him through halls with large, whirling machines, and winding staircases before they stop behind a white door. The name plaque next to it proclaims "Isolde White" in big, golden letters. They listen for a moment, Arthur pressing his ear against the door, but he can’t hear a thing.

Arthur knocks, and for a moment they both wait, holding their breaths until an impatient sounding female voice tells them to come in. With a nod from Arthur and a final look around to make sure they are alone Merlin drops the illusion and Arthur opens the door.

The woman behind the desk has a bright purple hair and a bunch of complicated looking metal parts lying in front of her. A wide grin breaks out on her face when she recognises Arthur.

"Fuckin hell," she says and chuckles. "You made it then. Had all of us quite worried for you and Gwennie. And Morgana of course.” Her amusement fades a little.

She stands up from her chair and gives Merlin a sharp once over. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Merlin. He–"

Arthur hesitates so Merlin cuts in smoothly. "Merlin Emrys. I worked for Uther and now I work for Morgana. A pleasure to meet you."

Isolde nods. "I won’t ask for your job description.” Merlin is grateful for that, though it sounds like she is making some good guesses . “So what can I do for you boys? I suspect you're not here for idle chitchat."

"We need a favour," Arthur says. "But if you'd rather not get involved–"

Isolde scoffs. "Please."

Arthur clears his throat and gives Merlin a look that says "shut up" even though Merlin hasn't as much as breathed loudly. He might be smiling though. Just a little.

"So. We need something from the B safe. It's a small locked metal box, should be on the right side of second self with a tag saying Morgana."

"B safe, metal box, second self, right side, says Morgana. Got it. Wait here and I'll be back in a tic."

"We'll come with you if it's all the same to you," Merlin says. While she seems trustworthy and he doesn't really doubt Arthur's and Gwen's judgement he has not stayed alive in his job by standing idly in rooms with only one exit while someone can potentially run to alert officers to his presence.

Isolde looks at Arthur questioningly. "Would it not be better for you to stay here where you won't be seen?"

Arthur shrugs, though he doesn't seem too pleased with Merlin's interjection. "It's alright. Merlin here has some tricks."

Tricks. Way to make him sound like a dog, he thinks bristling, contemplating how satisfying it would be to create an illusion of a huge red spot on Arthur’s stupidly regal nose.

xxx

They get the box without any problems. The vault itself is secured with a simple mechanical lock and while the safe also requires a magical signature Merlin is positive he could have broken in given bit of time. Though he supposes time is exactly what they don't have.

"Don't hesitate to contact me if you need any help," Isolde says as a way of goodbye, and Merlin finds himself much less averse to idea than he was a few hours ago, smiling at her warmly.

They make their way back to the same direction they came from – or at least Merlin thinks so; the building is refusing to map out in his head properly thanks to all the different levels and turns. He rounds another corner, step in step with Arthur and collides straight into someone. He stumbles back and looks up, only to see the large man he has run into staring back down at him with a deep frown of concentration on his face. Shit. He throws a soppy extra layer of magic on Arthur, making him practically invisible. At this stage when the man's attention is already firmly on him so it would do little good to try the same on himself.

"Excuse me," he tries with a feeble smile, adding a bit of familiarity into his voice, moving to walk around the man.

"Wait," the man says. From the corner of his eye Merlin can see Arthur tensing like a bowstring. Merlin shakes his head. Please don't do anything stupid. Please don't do anything, he thinks forcefully. "I'm not sure if I recognise you – where are you from?"

Double shit. He takes deep breath and concentrates his magic on screaming "harmless and insignificant".

"The PR. Sorry, in bit of a hurry, gotta run," he waves his hand vaguely in front of him, hoping that the man takes the hint. He does and steps aside, confused and apologetic and Merlin lets out a sigh of relief until he catches the frantic look Arthur is giving him. Quickly he hurries past.

"Wait!" the man calls and this time his voice is angry. "We don’t have a PR department!"

Fuck. He breaks into run, Arthur at his side. They leap down a staircase, two steps at the time which should end up with at least one broken ankle but somehow doesn't, and continue to race through another corridor.

"Code I74B, I repeat code I74B, initiate lockdown," a metallic voice blares up from just above Merlin, almost startling him out of his skin.

"They can't do that," Arthur grounds out between breaths and snatches Merlin's wrist to drag him to a familiar staircase with exit sign.

"I don’t think they got that memo," Merlin says while trying to hold his balance. He succeeds until the last step, where he steps on the edge, slips, and ends up sliding to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

Arthur turns. "How are you even – never mind, we need to go." He hauls Merlin up roughly and Merlin scowls at him, half of his body aching and just waiting to bloom full of bruises.

It's easy to sneak back out from the door – clearly lockdown is not as effective as it could be – but when they peer around a corner they're greeted with the sight of a dozen officers in full uniform.

"What do we do now?" Arthur hisses at him.

Merlin chews his lip, leaning against the wall. "Do they look like they're leaving?"

Arthur leans to take a second look. "No. Would your–" he wiggles his fingers suggestively over himself.

"If we don't draw their attention. They're already on high alert so there’s always the chance we'll be spotted." He considers their options for a moment. "I'll create a distraction and then we move. Quickly but discreetly."

Arthur nods. Merlin closes his eyes and focuses on the image of black smoke, then looks to the wall behind the officers, adds the smoke into the image of the wall and then bends the perception of reality to match his image. One of the officers lets out a surprised shout.

"Let's go!" Merlin says while trying to strengthen the illusion hiding them, but he is too drained to manage much.

Apparently the distraction works, because nobody calls after them as they climb over the wall in a uncoordinated scramble. Because Arthur can't climb with the box Merlin goes up first and Arthur tosses it at him, though his aim not terribly accurate: Merlin almost topples down when he reaches to catch it. He doesn't dare to shout any insults but he makes sure to glare before he lowers himself to hang on the other side with one arm and jumps down.

The surrounding streets seem empty, no sign of officers running to look for them. It would probably take them awhile to realise they had gotten out. He smiles a little.

"Don't be creepy," Arthur says, dropping down from the wall to his side.

"Fuck you," Merlin whispers, but continues smiling, partially just to spite Arthur. "Gwen and Gwaine are probably already waiting, c'mon."

 

**ARTHUR VII**

"Blood?" Arthur asks incredulously. "You want me to bleed on it?"

The two watches Gwen is holding up look deceptively ordinary if a bit thick and clumsy in the light of the room. Gwen smiles hopefully. "Both of them, actually. But yes."

To Arthur's great consolation Merlin clearly shares his revulsion because he is eyeing the watches distrustfully like he is expecting them to attack him at any moment.

"Is that really necessary?" Arthur asks. It's not that he is afraid of needles or a little bit of blood, but he does prefer his blood inside his veins where it belongs, and besides the thought of mixing his blood with Merlin and then wearing it in a watch is – well, weird to say the least.

Gwen gives him a look that says he is being unreasonably childish and difficult. "Well, blood is the only one we managed to make work, though we speculated sperm might work as well. So if you guys want to –?"

"No," Merlin says quickly, clearly mortified, and Arthur shakes his head vigorously to agree. No. That would be far beyond weird. Though the wank might be quite pleasant and needed but really it would be – no. He focuses on looking as nonchalant as possible.

"I think blood is fine," he says decisively. Gwen beams at him sunnily, looking as innocent as ever, but Arthur knows she has secretly become evil. Years of Morgana’s influence could do that to anyone.

Merlin takes the watch Gwen offers him gingerly. “I feel like it’s going to try and eat me,” he mutters, holding it up to inspection.

Gwaine chuckles. “I’m not an expert but I don’t think it’s too likely.”

Arthur cocks his head thoughtfully. “I suspect Merlin is too bony to make a decent meal anyway.” Calling Merlin bony might be stretching the truth a little because he definitely has some nice lean muscles and Arthur would quite like to eat him but –.

“Prat,” Merlin says and shoves the other watch at him.

Surprised, Arthur takes a step back, then glares at Merlin’s smirk and snatches the watch with pointed casualness. He weighs it on his palm; it’s surprisingly light, like something made out of aluminium. Curious, he scans the surface lightly with magic but it still appears to be made of gold. _Strange._ He doesn’t dare to probe deeper for the fear of disturbing Morgana’s and Gwen’s work.

“Put them on, please,” Gwen says.

It slots perfectly around his wrist, not too tight or loose, the surface cool and comfortable against his skin. Gwen smiles at him.

“This is actually really nice,” Merlin admits as well, eyes locked on the watch on his wrist.

Gwen’s smile turns bashful. “It’s mostly Morgana’s work, really. I only helped a little.”

“Of course,” Arthur drawls.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen that I have been immersed in my own project! This thing really is Morgana’s child.”

“You could have been working on a toy car all this time for all I understand about your computer.” Years ago admitting that might have stung but he has grown out of his silly jealousy. He is proud of her now.

“Well,” Gwen says, ransacking through the little pouch around her waist. “It’s not like I’m nearly as good as you at what you do so – there they are!” Victoriously she takes out two large needles packed carefully into an airtight container and smiles brightly, beckoning Arthur and Merlin forward. She arranges their hands so that they are touching. “Keep them there.”

She twitches her fingers around the faces of the watches, opening the glass.

By Arthur’s estimation there is nothing out of ordinary about the clock face. “How does it work if you just – Ouch!” Gwen takes the needle away from his finger and lifts a droplet first to Arthur’s and then to Merlin’s watch, then does the same thing to Merlin.

The moment the droplets of their blood touch the clock they’re absorbed down, leaving no trace behind, and Gwen clicks the glass back into place.

>> Arthur? <<

He stares at Merlin. He feels him, the curiosity, then the sudden apprehension.

“I can feel his – _feelings_ ,” Merlin says, his other hand twitching to cover the watch like it could somehow shield him.

Impressions that don’t belong to him lingering at the edge of his consciousness, disconcerting, but they’re quite faint and Arthur is not sure if he would even notice them if he wasn’t concentrating. Maybe it’s stronger for Merlin because of his magic. The idea of Merlin having a full access to his brain is not exactly comforting, and he finds his fingers unconsciously reaching for the lock of the watch.

Gwen glances between them thoughtfully. “That should only happen between people with a strong bond. Have you two slept together?”

Arthur almost chokes on his tongue while Merlin splutters. Gwen’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, sorry! I didn’t think, I don’t mean – it’s the academic in me talking since it would make sense –“

“Gwen,” Arthur interrupts. He really doesn’t want to continue on the subject and he can feel Merlin’s mortification echoing his own.

Gwen squeezes her eyes shut briefly and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she says again and this time her words don’t tumble over each other. “It should fade away almost completely with a bit of distance.”

“Can we take them off for now?” Merlin asks.

Gwen chews her lip. “It would be better if you didn’t since the magic starts fading if it’s not in contact with one of you. Umm, could you also try actually speaking to each other, just to make sure, since Arthur –” She makes a nondescript hand gesture which makes Arthur want to go, “Really?” because he is fairly sure “doesn’t have magic” is not that difficult to say. He knows she doesn’t mean anything by it, and yet it grates on his nerves stretched thin by exhaustion. Instead of saying anything he focuses on Merlin.

>> Merlin? << he tries carefully.

>> Yeah. I guess it works. << Merlin answers. Arthur gets the impression he half hoped it wouldn’t, which is probably understandable all things considered, but he is personally a bit glad that they don’t have to send Merlin out without any way of contacting them. Merlin shots him an accusing glance, eyes momentarily narrowing into dark slits – and yeah okay Arthur hopes Gwen is right about the effects fading.

“It works,” he tells waiting Gwen, who lets out a sigh of relief.

“I guess we better tell Balinor I’m ready to go then,” Merlin says. He sounds bored and annoyed but he is not; he is nervous. Arthur shakes his head to clear the conflicting sensory information. Absolutely nothing about Merlin suggests nervous and yet Arthur knows –

>> Stop. <<

Merlin doesn’t even turn to look at him, smiling at Gwaine who gives him a companionable slap on the shoulder.

>> I can’t exactly help it, << he tries, but Gwaine speaks on top of him. “Are you sure you want to go alone with him? We could insist I come too?”

Merlin shakes his head. “It’s alright. The manpower is more needed here.”

He turns to smile sardonically at Arthur. “And it’s not like we’ll be completely cut off.”

xxx

They – all four of them and Nimueh and Balinor – stand in the shadow of the tower, the air heavy around them. Merlin is dressed in a dark hooded cloak with goggles and a respiration mask is hanging around his neck; necessary gifts from Nimueh. Balinor is dressed similarly, though he has rudely drawn the hood up to shadow his face.

Nimueh takes out two small items from the pocket of her short skirt. “Since the barrier reaches down into the tunnels you need these to pass through,” she says. “They only work four or five times, though if you lose one they do permit anyone touching them through, even if it’s more than one person.” She turns her hand around thoughtfully, staring at the smooth, round surface of the stones. “Don’t lose them though. Horribly difficult to make.”

He feels Merlin’s quiet marvel when Nimueh hands the other one to him and tries to crane his neck discreetly to catch a better look, foiled when Merlin quickly shoves it into the folds of his clothes.

“I won’t,” Merlin says, a creeping note of reverence dancing at the edges of his voice. As far as Arthur can tell it’s genuine, yet the source of the emotion eludes him; it’s a maddeningly teasing flash that gives him nothing but questions. The watches are certainly not an easy, open window into the soul of someone else.

Nimueh chuckles with delight and brushes and strand of hair away from Merlin’s face in an overly familiar gesture. “Good luck,” she says, her eyes keen and bright, and moves to give the other stone to Balinor.

“Good luck,” Gwen echoes, stepping forward to engulf Merlin into a tight hug. For a moment his hands hang at his sides uselessly before wound up tightly around Gwen’s middle.

“Thank you,” Merlin says, voice a bit chocked, emotions flooded with warmth. “You too,” he adds when Gwen pulls away.

“I demand a hug too,” Gwaine says with an exaggerated pout and with a laugh Merlin gives him a quick hug before looking at Arthur and hesitating.

“Arthur –“

Their eyes meet and they both step forward, knowing how they both crave. Merlin’s hair is silky in his fingers, his weight good against his. He smells of the woollen cloak and dust but Arthur doesn’t care much because they fit, and in an overwhelming whoosh he realises it would be so easy to feel more than simple lust or friendship towards Merlin.

He squeezes their bodies together more tightly and Merlin buries his nose into the nape of Arthur’s neck.

>> Be careful <<

>> You too. I couldn’t – << Merlin cuts off, pulls back enough that they can look at each other. I couldn’t bear to lose you too.

“We haven’t lost her,” Arthur says fiercely. “We won’t.”

Merlin nods, smiles, and leaves. Arthur watches his retreating back until he disappears into the tunnels, a place in his heart stuttering with sudden emptiness. He moves a bit closer to Gwen, reminding himself that he is not alone, and that Merlin is no more lost to him than Morgana is.

 

**MERLIN VIII**

Merlin finds himself wishing he had slept with Arthur and gotten it out of his system. Maybe when they had first been sharing a room, no friendship or anything else in the way. Now his skin refuses to stop tingling where Arthur touched him; at the nape of his neck, his cheek… He locks the thoughts firmly away, concentrating on the heels of Balinor’s boots, flicking out from under his brown coat with every step.

He has questions he wants to and needs to ask about the past. Why had he left and where had he been, had he even once thought, wondered if maybe his family needed him? Merlin thinks about his mother, still continuing to waste away, and clasps his hands tightly into the coarse fabric of his own cloak in frustration. Later.  

After maybe an hour’s walk in forced silence they finally encounter the barrier. It stretches across the tunnel in front of them in a faintly glowing blue sheen and from this close Merlin can feel the magic embedded in it, foreign but seductive in its power. The signature it carries is similar to Nimueh’s – the stone in his pockets hums in recognition as he wraps his fingers around it.

After the briefest hesitation he steps past Balinor, through the barrier. It feels like walking through some cold air, almost pleasantly refreshing before he is through and the air on his tongue turns foul. He reaches to tug his respiration mask up.

“I wouldn’t do that yet,” Balinor says. “The air down here is still breathable, enjoy it while you can. Few days with that thing and you’ll be ready to sell your soul for a chance to get it off.”

Merlin grunts in acknowledgement, dropping his hand away from the mask. Balinor’s bread twitches as he tries to smile, the heavy lines of his skin protesting against the expression. This is not the smiling, laughing father Merlin remembers – maybe life has not treated him any better than it has Merlin and his mother. Good, Merlin thinks viciously and stalks forwards.

xxx

Emerging to the surface, outside Camelot’s walls takes Merlin’s breath away. First he can barely see anything, the relentless wind pushing against him with a staggering force that tears his hood to his face. Then, when holding the hood in place with his hands, all he sees is yellow; the air is saturated by the sand the wind has lifted off the ground. Here and there he catches a sight of small pieces of plastic being mauled along, marks of a dead civilisation that had almost destroyed their planet finally in the mercy of the nature.

He turns around and gasps behind his mask. Even Camelot is obscured, the high walls reduced to shadows and the barrier only a faint glow, and yet it looks huge and terrifyingly beautiful in the shroud of yellow emptiness.

A hand touches Merlin’s shoulder, making him startle slightly though covers it quickly. Professional, he reminds himself, turning to Balinor who has a compass in his hand and is waving from him to follow.

xxx

Walking on sand is not like walking on the streets of Camelot; it lets his boots sink in but refuses to give him a proper solid footing, instead scurrying away under every step eating half of his momentum. Every fold of his clothes is similarly covered in it and the few unprotected stripes of skin on his face feel like they have been battered with thousands of little needles.

It only takes few hours for Merlin to start to hate the mask – it gets stuffy and moist, making every breath thoroughly unpleasant. The thought of days with it make him seriously consider the risks of a bit of pollution against the discomfort, and he doesn’t arrive to any definite conclusions.

He is exhausted by the time the sick orange light of the sun starts to fade, but the wind seems to lose most of her fervour with the light, easing their journey. Balinor conjures a ball of light to float at their side.

Slowly the horizon clears as the sand falls from the air, revealing a distant dark line of trees standing against a mountainside and above opens a sky dark as abyss. Merlin stops, his breath stuttering out of his throat as a gasp. He cranes his neck, facing the twinkle of distant stars. He remembers reading about constellations, forming pictures of warriors and animals alike but no matter how he cranes his neck he can't see them, and yet at the same time he is filled with sudden reverence, almost terror, at the sight of the vast emptiness around them.

Overwhelmed, he turns to look back to the direction they have come from and has to bite back another gasp. They must have been climbing ever so slightly because they are standing on slightly higher ground – in the distance Camelot glows beneath them like a huge egg half buried in the ground. On the other side of it lies a forest, but even over the distance its edges illuminated by Camelot's glow look sharp and unhealthy.

"Damnably pretty night," says Balinor's voice behind him. "But it is no excuse to tarry. Hurry up, boy."

"I am not a boy," Merlin says. Hasn't been since he started taking care of his mother.

He forces his aching muscles to push him past Balinor.

"We rest in the forest," Balinor's voice carries after him. "It's about two hours walk."

He can manage two hours.

xxx

His feet ache and his limbs have turned to jelly when they finally make the camp and sit down to eat some of their rations – on the opposite sides of the pitiful campfire they have managed to build.

Stomach half filled, the gentle rattle of campfire filling the air Merlin finally asks the question that has lived in his ribcage since his mother had quietly told him that his father would not be coming back.

It shouldn’t be a difficult word, and still it almost gets stuck in his throat. He draws up an appearance of calm and cold before he forces the word out. "Why?" he asks, and loathes how beneath the illusion his voice cracks.

The lines around Balinor’s goggles deepen. “It’s complicated, I–“

“Complicated,” Merlin interrupts icily though he feels like screaming it, hissing and spitting like a feral cat.

“I would have put your lives in danger if I had stayed!” Balinor exclaims hotly like Merlin’s reaction is somehow unreasonable. Merlin regards him darkly in return.

“I was officially working for the Triad, but feeding information to Nimueh and her spies. However, either someone tipped the Triad off or they became suspicious for the hell of it. They started a large scale cleansing, scrutinizing people’s work and backgrounds. They even found a truthseer to carry out interrogations.” Balinor shudders. “Many were caught, friends and strangers alike. I knew I had to disappear before it was my turn so I begged Nimueh for help, and she sent me out here. I could not put you two in danger by making contact!”

His anguish seems real, Merlin admits grudgingly to himself, but apart from that he cannot tell. The irony of Balinor’s claims is not lost to him either.

“Did you know she fell ill?” he asks conversationally. “Worked herself to bone.”

Balinor makes a small, helpless sound. “Did you know I had to sell myself to Uther Pendragon and his cause when I was a child to help her? And yet not even all the money in the world could cure her.”

“No!” Denial would not carry him far, Merlin observes dully. “Hunith, she is alive, I know–“

 _You know?_ “She is,” Merlin agrees. “But her mind is gone and body is frail. She is wasting away even as we speak, slowly thanks to the medicines, but wasting anyway.”

“But they – Nimueh, she said you were both alright,” Balinor says again. Merlin waits for the futility of the statement to sink in. Words can warp reality just as easily as any of his illusions.

“I had no choice,” Balinor finally whispers.

There is always a choice. Merlin’s face twists in disgust and disappointment. Balinor could have chosen to return and risk it, but he hadn’t. He could have contacted them. He hadn’t. Without a word he stands up and walks to their tent, an ugly emptiness barking at his heels.

Balinor says one more thing that bothers him more than anything else, though, “Nimueh cares only about her own goals, Merlin. Please believe at least that.”

Merlin stares into the darkness of the woods, wondering what those goals are, before stepping into the tent. The flap hasn’t even closed behind him when a voice makes him jump.

>> Merlin? <<

 

**ARTHUR VIII**

“How are we going to get to Mithian?” Gwen asks as Arthur steps back into the tower. Nimueh and Mordred have disappeared somewhere, but Gwaine waits at Gwen’s side.

Arthur shrugs. “We walk and make sure nobody pays as any attention, I suppose. Merlin was a great help but I’m sure–“

Gwen motions him to stop, with a sharp motion of her hand. “No, I meant, well there is also that – but what I really meant was how are we going to find her?”

It’s a good point. It’s not that he doesn’t have a plan at all, but rather that it’s still rather half-baked. Or unbaked. He knows very little about Mithian, he realises. Only where she works, not where she lives or spends her time, not who her friends are.

“Well, as I see it our only chance is to wait near their headquarters and hope to catch her,” he says slowly, aware that it doesn’t exactly sound like a master plan.

“I might be able to help us with that,” Gwaine says, blowing his hair away from his face.

“Don’t tell me you have slept with her and know the location of her bedroom window because you had to climb out of it to escape the boyfriend or something.”

Gwaine gives him a wounded look. “That’s insulting. To me and Mithian both. No, as you should know, the only time we have met was when Morgana introduced us. But I know her cousin, Dr. du Lac. And no, I have not slept with him. Poor bloke is tragically straight, but a good friend.”

The name sounds familiar, but it takes Arthur a moment to make the connection. “Bloody hell, Lancelot du Lac? He was the doctor that convinced Morgause to let me go.” It feels like a lifetime ago.

“That does sound like something he would do. Small world,” Gwaine says with a fond grin. “I also happen to know that he is working night shift most of this week, so if we go now we will catch him at home.”

“That’s promising,” Gwen allows with a smile. “Can we trust him?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested him otherwise.”

“It’s not like we have to tell him anything,” Arthur points out, though privately he feels that du Lac is trustworthy and potentially valuable ally. He had challenged the beliefs of the Triad, if only in a silent, invisible act of rebellion that helped to save Arthur’s life. Not many would have bothered to do the same.

People like to feel safe, to believe in the system. Arthur remembers all the times he has heard magicless being called freaks and mistakes of nature. How people had consoled him as his deadline had drawn nearer by saying, “Don’t worry, you’re a good boy,” like magicless and “good” were somehow exclusive. “Regrettable necessity,” said the ones that acclaimed their views as simple realism, “But I’m sure it won’t happen to you.”

“It might be better for him if he doesn’t know,” Gwaine muses. “Well, in any case he lives near the Northeast Hospital. Not that I have any clue about the shortest route to there from here.” He eyes the surrounding stone dryly, but Arthur’s gaze stops on the numerous doors and empty doorways. It occurs to him how easy it would be for someone to eavesdrop on the conversation from behind them, and the thought leaves him uneasy even though they aren’t discussing anything not meant for Nimueh’s ears.

“Better ask if someone can show us out then,” Gwen says. “I wonder how many entrances and exits this place even has.”

xxx

It’s once again Mordred who leaves to guide them but it doesn’t take long for Arthur to start feeling that the tunnels they’re taking are familiar. After they pass a weird, oval shaped small chamber he is sure.

“We are going to the Mercian market entrance, aren’t we?” he asks Mordred, already mentally dreading the climb out of the ventilation shaft.

Mordred turns around in his step to give them a quick nod. Arthur sighs and answers to Gwen’s and Gwaine’s questioning looks by muttering, “More climbing.”

They don’t look any more enthusiastic than he feels and even less so when they actually see the narrow shaft going straight upwards.

“It’s only about ten feet high,” Arthur finds himself saying in an attempt of encouragement. “Even a child could do it.”

He gets the honour of going first, which he silently resents even if it makes sense. After numerous slips, legs and arms aching and the skin of his hands burning he reaches the top, and painstakingly reaches to nudge the hatch open with his left hand. It doesn’t budge on the first try and Arthur has a horrifying thought that maybe someone has replaced the lock on the other side, but on the second hit it does open and he manages to haul both his hands to the edge and drag himself through.

To his chagrin Gwen manages the climb much more elegantly and twice as fast, though at least she has the good grace not to gloat.  Gwaine slides back to the bottom once with a string of colourful curses and even Gwen can’t quite hold back her smile.

They sneak through the city without actually sneaking, because as Gwaine points out looking suspicious is the last thing they want to do. Instead Gwen frees her hair to shadow her face and Arthur ends up wearing her white scarf so that if he stares broodingly into the ground it covers the lower half of his face. Gwen and Gwaine both agree that he looks extremely pretty and Arthur glares and momentarily misses Merlin before realising that Merlin would definitely team up against him.

At least he gets to trail after them alone because they agree that walking as one group is too big of a risk. So Gwaine shows the way, Gwen in his arm, and Arthur stalks after them. Brooding. Definitely not sulking over feeling neglected.

xxx

Du Lac’s apartment is in the bottom floor of a building standing in a bright, open corner of a busy street. Heavy curtains with flowery designs have been drawn shut; Arthur supposes Du Lac is probably sleeping if he has been working in a night shift. With a cautious look around he glides into the doorway where the others are waiting.

Gwaine has apparently already pressed the buzzer because the door clicks open and they step in. Du Lac is waiting at the door, wearing nothing but a nightgown, hair tussled with sleep. Gwen makes a small noise at the back of her throat and Arthur can’t even blame her because the look is pure sex.

“Gwaine, I’m going to murder you if you don’t –“ He stops to stare at Arthur, runs his hand through his dark hair and sighs. “Of course you have a good reason. Come in, please.”

He ushers them to sit into a small wooden kitchen table surrounded by four chairs and puts water boiling for tea. Arthur imagines he must be paid very well for his job if he goes around offering something as expensive as tea to his guests.

“So, what brings three people wanted for treason to my door?” He smiles at Gwen. “At least I assume you are Miss Smith. My apologies if I’m wrong.”

“You aren’t, though it’s just Gwen, please.”

“We need to make contact with Miss Nemeth urgently,” Arthur explains. “Gwaine told us you could help.”

“Mithian?” Du Lac exclaims. “How is she involved in all this?”

Gwaine turns to look at him, eyebrow raised questioningly. It’s a pleasant surprise; Arthur had half expected that he would have just gone ahead and explained. He glances to his right at Gwen and finds a similar questioning expression from her face. Du Lac clears his throat and rises to pour the tea.

“She is not really involved. Are you sure you want to know anything else?” Arthur asks as a steaming hot cup of tea is placed on the table in front of him. It smells faintly like lemons.

“I’m already harbouring you,” Du Lac points out levelly, sitting back down with his own cup.

“Fair enough,” Arthur concedes. “She offered her help to Morgana. We need that help to free her. The council has to ask for a full report about the evidence against Morgana and the basis for her arrest. We need that extra time.”

“In that case I have good news for you: she has already made the proposition to the council and they agreed. They are making the formal request today.”

“Oh,” Arthur says and sips his tea, almost burning his tongue. “That’s – good. Excellent.”

Du Lac tilts his mug thoughtfully but doesn’t lift it to his lips. “I assume you know the Triad aren’t going to let her go just like that. They’ll hand the report to the council and proceed with the trial. Of course, if you just need the time this doesn’t exactly matter, but there are some in the council that definitely feel that if the accusations against Morgana are true she deserves what's coming to her.”

There is no hint about what du Lac himself and Mithian think about the subject, but Arthur feels his jaw to clench all the same. He would not blame them if they disapproved Morgana’s actions and her way of handling things. Arthur does. But if they think she deserves to be executed for them –

“And what does your cousin think?”

“That sometimes the end justifies the means,” he says and looks Arthur squarely in the eye before yawning widely.

“Pardon me,” he says and drowns a big gulp of tea. “Long night. So, do you still want to talk to her?”

Arthur considers it, but fails to see the benefit. He shakes his head.

"That's all we came for. But we might need further aid and if you and Miss Nemeth are willing to give it."

"We are," Du Lac says. "For freeing Morgana and for changing the laws – even beyond that if that’s what it takes."

It might be wise not to say what exactly that beyond is. Arthur wants to believe it’s justice, life free from persecution – but it would hardly be simple or easy, and if they were not careful they could plunge whole Camelot into a pit of chaos.

“Thank you, Dr. du Lac,” Gwen says firmly.

“Just Lancelot, please. And don’t thank me for simply doing what is right.”

“It occurs to me,” Arthur says. “That I owe you a thank you for one other good deed.”

Lancelot shakes his head. Nursing his tea Arthur muses that if Camelot had been ruled by people like Lancelot, honourable yet humble, maybe it would have become a true utopia instead of this mockery of democracy and fairness.

Gwaine strikes up idle conversation – or at least Arthur thinks it idle until he realises that the answers Lancelot is giving tell a lot about the general mood around the city – it sounds like people are restless. He glances at Gwaine, takes in the sharp, analytical look in his eyes, and reminds himself that Gwaine is more than his jokes or good looks. Undervaluing him would be a mistake.

When they say goodbyes it almost like leaving the house of an old friend.

“It’s probably better if you contact Mithian through me, since she is being watched much more closely by everyone,” Lancelot says as they step out. “But in case you do need to make direct contact: her flat is maybe a mile south from here, apartment 3C on Cooley Square.”

They make it back without any mishaps – Gwen even stops to buy another scarf from the market along the way.

xxx

The room in the tower seems suddenly large now that he is sitting there alone. The weak, fluttering light of the lightstone is climbing along the walls without reaching the roof. To his chagrin Arthur realises he misses having company. Merlin has been an almost constant nagging presence next to him since the first rocks of this landslide had started to move, and he had also been a welcome distraction from his thoughts about Morgana.

There are too many explanations and apologies she owes, too many things they need her for. The thought that they might fail is unbearable and unfathomable both.

He shakes his head to clear it, and lets his fingers run along the edges of the watch he is still wearing.

>> Merlin? << he tries. Immediately he feels a flash of connection, anxiety, anger, then quiet pleasure – directed at him.

>> Yeah. How’s everything? <<

It’s good to hear Merlin’s voice. Arthur closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall.

>> Alright. << He gives Merlin a quick rundown of the day’s events.

>> I’m sure you looked fetching in Gwen’s scarf. <<

Arthur tries to give him a mental glare, which is remarkably difficult and is met only with quiet amusement from Merlin’s side – he would like to believe his glares have a bit more effect in person.

>> I’m sure you’re looking just as fetching in your gear. <<

>> You saw me in my gear. <<

It hadn’t looked half bad if Arthur is perfectly honest, but that’s his cock’s massive crush on Merlin talking.

>> So I did, << he says and is very glad that they can’t actually read each other’s minds. >> What is it like out there anyway? <<

Merlin takes a moment to answer, his feelings lingering on exhaustion, awe and numerous other little nuances he can’t quite grasp.

>> It’s different, << Merlin answers finally. >> Wild, ruthless, breathtaking. Open. The sky is vaster than anything I could ever have imagined, stretching out behind an unfathomable distance. It’s not something I can make justice to with words, I don’t think, but it made me feel small. <<

Arthur tries to imagine it and fails, though he blames that on Merlin’s severely lacking description skills.

>> It’s a good thing you’re not a poet. <<

>> Probably. There is also lots of sand, though I think we have managed to leave the worst of it behind now. << Something about Merlin stutters and turns apprehensive. >> Balinor also said something about how Nimueh only cares about her own agenda. Not that I expected anything else, but do be careful with her. <<

>> Aww, it almost sounds like you care. <<

>> About Gwen and Morgana? Of course I do. << Warm amusement sweeps back and Arthur lets himself relish the pleasant feel of it.

>> Arse, << he says, not even bothering trying to hide the fondness.

They fall into pleasant silence the awareness tickling at the back of Arthur’s mind. Relaxed and tired he lets himself fall down onto the bed, then squirms uncoordinatedly his way under the blanket.

He can feel Merlin’s sleepiness mirroring the haziness of his own mind and he buries his head into the pillow with a smile.

 

**MERLIN IX**

Merlin much prefers the sighing and whistling wind dancing between the trees to the sandstorm of the desert, but otherwise he finds the place disquieting. The trees are nothing like the fruit trees of Camelot; their bark is dark and thick, and their leaves are coated with waxy surface that makes them look older and heavier. The roots sneak long ways above the ground, twining together like lovers before diving into the depths of the earth. They have to zigzag around stones and thorny bushes, and after the third time he has to stop to detangle his cloak from one he takes the whole thing off and crams it into his rucksack while Balinor watches with a disapproving frown.

He spots a few birds on the trees, where they sit and watch their passage silently, ready to raise an alarm if necessary. Other animals do not seem to be around – or they have just hidden away from his untrained eye.

“You talked about Nimueh’s agenda,” he starts sometime well into afternoon. "Do you know what it is?”

Balinor grunts as he steps over a large root. “Revenge. That one is obvious – but it’s not only the Triad she wants to best. She feels slighted and betrayed by the whole of Camelot, her people who did not stand with her when she challenged the Triad. There might be truth to the official story that she simply wanted to seize the power to herself. It might be what she’s still after all these years.”

The wind and rustle of branches almost steal the end of the last sentence away, and Merlin sprints a couple of steps forwards to be able to talk without yelling. Something about Balinor’s words doesn’t quite sit right with him. He doesn’t think Nimueh lacks ambition, viciousness or grudge, but he can’t quite imagine her being swallowed by them to the decree of pointless violence or tyranny. And the explanation certainly doesn’t shed light on Balinor himself.

“What does that say about you?” he asks. “Why do you work with her if that’s what you think?”

Balinor stops so abruptly that Merlin almost trips on him and turns to grab Merlin’s shoulders. “Merlin,” he says like the name is some sort of magic word to make Merlin believe him. “Everything I have done has been for Camelot, and to keep you and your mother safe. I have nowhere else to go and at least this way I know what’s going on and can keep an eye on her.”

Merlin stares at his reflection from Balinor’s goggles, waiting for more. After a moment’s silence Balinor turns his head away and loosens his grip from Merlin’s shoulders. “Maybe I’m wrong. Then I could help her build Camelot anew. The question of magic is not solved by pretty speeches about equality, as harsh and wrong those laws might be they were put in place for a reason.”

“Are you serious?” Merlin asks, taken aback and angry that Balinor is even trying to excuse them. “They’re badly masked upholders of the order that keeps the ‘better’ magical race and society pure – and they’re tools of fear, and tools of oppression. The magicless are not burdens to the society, they’re fucking people! Human beings!”

His magic rises up, sparkling on his skin like kindling fire.

“Of course they are,” Balinor says hastily, lifting his hands up. “But it’s a fact that they cannot contribute in the same way –“

“And who says it has to be the same way? What is this same way? Keep your bigotry to yourself.”

He starts walking again. If he had ever truly harboured any hopes of reconciliation he sure as hell doesn’t anymore.

“It’s not all about magic!” Balinor calls after him.

And yes, he is right; it’s about democracy, freedom of speech, their history – all the things he had passionately believed in when he had sold himself to Uther to finance his mother’s treatment. He never really stopped believing either, though the naïve passion had soon been shrouded by the wretchedness of reality, and now he is slowly starting to find it again. But Balinor doesn’t quite seem to believe any of it, like he is simply standing on the side of the potentially lesser evil.

xxx

Balinor offers to teach Merlin how to lay down traps as they settle for the night. A small part of Merlin, a part that still misses his father tells him to go and use the chance, but a much larger part of him is more than glad to get some time alone.

He waits few minutes after Balinor has gone and reaches for Arthur. It comes more and more naturally after each time.

>> Hey. Good moment? <<

Gladness. >> Hey. Yeah, all free. <<

>> Anything interesting happening there? <<

>> Not much. We fixed some normal, low range communicators that Nimueh had rusting away in storage. There was also an old mobile phone she had kept as a memento. One of those things that were apparently basically mini computers. Gwen almost had a heart attack before disappearing to study it. << The affection feels strong when he speaks about her, but it’s familial – Merlin is not sure how he knows that but he does. >> Went to explore the city and the surrounding tunnels with Gwaine. Many of them are blocked, deliberately I suspect, and the city itself is falling apart. Gwaine broke a piece off a wall when he leaned on it. <<

Merlin smiles, imagining Gwaine’s flailing. >> Sounds relaxed. <<

Arthur sours immediately. >> I hate not being able to do anything. Morgana’s trial has been postponed and I feel like I’m doing nothing with the time we have been granted. <<

Not quite sure what to say to that, Merlin hesitates. He has never been good at talks like this. Though he is sure Arthur is worse. >> According to Balinor we should hopefully reach the valley the storage is in tomorrow. We’ll know more then. <<

>> That’s good news at least. <<

Merlin bites his lip. >> I suppose so. But I’m – I’m not quite sure if we can trust him to be honest, << he confesses. The flash of concern he gets in return is comforting though he is not sure if it’s more for him or their agenda. Either way Arthur trusts his opinion.

>> Has he done something? <<

>> Not really. << Merlin catches himself shaking his head as he speaks and smiles dryly at himself. >> Maybe trust is not the right word. I don’t think he is going to betray us to the Triad or anything, but he keeps cautioning me against trusting Nimueh and making rash decisions, because apparently there are reasons for the current state of things. <<

>> Reasons? << The thought is dripping with disgust.

>> I know. Well, he did talk about how such a change would not happen easily, which I suppose is true. << He stops himself when he realises he is making excuses. >> I guess we simply have to see how things play out. <<

>> Waiting is the worst. At least you are doing something to keep your mind occupied. <<

>> I assure you that walking does not actually stop me from thinking. It might be different for you, of course – <<

>> Merlin? <<

>> Yes? << A huge grin breaks out on his face despite his futile attempts to rein it in. But he supposes it hardly matters.

>> Do shut up. <<

It’s a pleasant shut up made from humour and affection and it makes him want to snuggle against Arthur’s side. He opens his eyes and stares into the campfire in front of him, trying to feel the panicky apprehension such feelings should have resulted in and failing for the most part.

>> I’ll tell you when we find something. I – <<

The knife is in his hand before he even properly registers the snap of a branch somewhere to his left and he freezes to wait, straining his ears and eyes to catch the source of the sound. Most likely it’s just Balinor returning, he reminds himself.

>> Merlin? << Arthur asks, concerned, at the back of his head. Merlin shuts him out.

A shadow moves through the mist under the trees and stops to stare at Merlin with large dark eyes. A deer. It’s head is crowned by large antlers, impressive in their size and complexity, but covered in strange, fuzzy growth stretching between the branches in tatters, making them look like they are rotting away. Maybe they are.

Merlin holds his breath as the deer looks away and continues its journey, sliding away quietly like a ghost. Slowly he reaches to slide his knife back into his sleeve, but glancing at his hands he notices they’re shaking ever so slightly. Maybe he is not suited to the exciting life in wilderness, he thinks wryly, and slots the knife back to its place.

>> Sorry about that, << he tells Arthur and is assaulted by a wave of worry that makes him wince.

>> What happened? Bloody hell, Merlin, you can’t just cut off like that! <<

>> Sorry? It was only a deer, << he explains sheepishly, catching himself in the middle of a shrug.

>> A deer? <<

>> Yes. I think. Umm, anyway, contact me if anything happens and I’ll do the same? <<

>> Alright. Don’t get killed by deer. <<

Merlin doesn’t even try to stop the eyeroll. >> Good night, arsehole. <<

 

**ARTHUR IX**

Arthur stalks across his small room for what must have been the thousandth time, trying to resist urge to tug at his hair in frustration. There has to be something he can do to push the odds further in their favour. The dragon is a threat, certainly, but he has already managed to come up with several situations where the Triad could easily outmanoeuvre them. They would have to make sure they could take no hostages and that Morgana was safe.

How did the dragon even work? Would it spit fire? He knows a place that has the answers, he realises, if he can just find the room again. He glances out of his door to make sure there is nobody around – he is not quite sure why he feels the need for secrecy, but he reasons that it can never hurt – and walks to the staircase. One floor down, he is quite sure.

The first room he looks into is empty and dark and with a sigh he moves to try the next one only to find it locked. He tries to remember if the room with the evidence had been locked; he doesn’t think so. He stares at the dark painted wood of the door. If Nimueh hadn’t kept all that knowledge locked away then what would she feel the need to secure? It could be private, he supposes. Suddenly he feels a bit bad for snooping and quickly he goes to try the next door, which opens without as much as click.

He recognises the room straight away and he also recognises Gwen, sitting on the floor and pouring over some old items.

“So this is where you disappeared off to,” he says.

Gwen startles to look up at him. Face glowing she gestures to the old electronics Arthur vaguely recalls from their first visit.

“I have almost figured it out! With the phone and these I think I can finally make it all work!”

Her enthusiasm is catching. “Really? That is fantastic!”

“I know!” She looks down to the parts in her hands. “I might – I might even be able to create something we can use.” She looks like she hardly believes her own words. Sweet, sweet, brilliant Gwen.

He steps closer and reaches to ruffle her hair, already mostly escaped from her messy bun. “I knew you’d manage it sooner or later.”

“Well, this won’t really be an actual computer, not yet. And I might still muck up,” she says, swatting his hand away.

“You won’t,” Arthur says with confidence.

Gwen mutters something about how he can’t know that under her breath and Arthur quite cheerfully ignores it. He is feeling much more optimistic all of sudden.

“Do you mind if I look through the stuff while you work?” he asks.

Gwen shakes her head. “What are you looking for?”

“A plan,” he says and dives into the papers.

xxx

Arthur has a plan. A plan that should work with the dragon or without the dragon.

“Gwen?” Gwen turns away from her work to look at him. “Do you think we can disable to communicators of the officers?”

She tilts her head, slow smile spreading on her lips. “You were part of the design team, weren’t you? So you know their signature.”

Arthur nods. He could disable them easily enough if he was close, but what he wants to do is disable all of them at once.

She lifts the device in her hands. “I think we can manage that alright. Or you can.”

Arthur grins at her, heart beating wildly. “Keep up the good work, miss. I need to find Gwaine.”

Gwen lifts an eyebrow. “He is probably with Sefa.”

Arthur stops, halfway out of the door. “With Sefa?” He does not want to walk in on that.

“Oh no!” Gwen says quickly. “I don’t think it’s like that. I’m pretty sure it isn’t like that. It just seems she has a touch with the nature and I think they have been trying to create a small indoors garden to the kitchen storeroom.”

“Are you sure they’re not just using that as an excuse to lock themselves into the storeroom?” he asks dubiously.

Gwen gives him her scary “you’re being stupid”-stare. “Arthur. Gwaine might be a flirt but that is not all he actually is.”

He shrugs sheepishly. He hasn’t seen much evidence to the contrary, but he is here, helping them, and that should be enough. He supposes he might be being a bit unfair, especially when he arrives to the kitchen and finds them indeed bent over a few weak looking green things pushing their way out of a soil filled pot.

hey’re so absorbed in their work that they clearly haven’t even noticed that the door has opened and Arthur has stepped in. Politely he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry, but I need to borrow Gwaine for a moment,” he says to Sefa’s startled face. He feels a bit sorry for her. He doesn’t know how she has ended up here with Nimueh, but it’s clear that she doesn’t belong.

“All right,” Gwaine says with a bemused frown, reaching to squeeze Sefa’s shoulder gently.

Arthur watches how her face blooms into sweet smile – not infatuated, he doesn’t think, just grateful for the kindness – and comes into a decision.

“Actually, Sefa, I could use your help too. But I won’t involve you if you don’t want to, and it could mean keeping things from Nimueh.”

Her eyes dart around suspiciously, before she slowly nods. “I won’t act against her, that much I do owe her. But I’ll do my best to help with anything else.” Though her voice is quiet and posture unsure there is quiet conviction in her words and when Arthur gives her an encouraging smile she smiles back, cheeks rosy. She can’t be much over eighteen.

“So,” Arthur says, seeing his plan playing out in his mind’s eye. “I’m going to start a riot.”

They stare at him like he has lost his mind. Maybe he has, but this feels good and right.

“Ah. Not to ruin your plan or anything, but how exactly are you planning on starting a riot with this few people?”

“I’m glad you asked, and the answer is simple: we recruit more people. I need to talk to Isolde, Lancelot and Mithian but the crust of it is that we call people forward to show support for Morgana. The people liked Uther, they like Morgana, and how her arrest was carried out has only not scared but also enraged people and made even people believing in the system doubt.” The Triad had made a mistake when they arrested Morgana by trickery instead of through official procedure and Arthur would use that. “We don’t need them to do anything illegal. We don’t even need them to actually riot. We just need them there, outside, showing support.”

“You want the security there,” Gwaine says with a slow predatory smile. “They are a distraction.”

If not for Gwen’s earlier words Arthur might have been surprised, now he almost feels like he had actually been expecting for Gwaine to show what he was made of. “Exactly. If most of the officers are standing guard outside we have much better chances inside.”

“But aren’t the people too afraid to come?” Sefa asks.

“Some,” Arthur agrees. “And some will support the Triad no matter what, but some will also come. That’s all we need.”

“I assume Isolde and others have something to do with how you will share the invitations?” Gwaine asks.

“You assume right. Sefa, do you know the way out?”

Arthur is almost sure he knows the way to the Mercian market entrance, but he would rather have a guide.

Sefa nods, chewing her lip. “She might notice that I’m gone.”

It startling to notice how much that makes her sound like a prisoner. “You’ll be back in no time, I only need you to show me the way out. And if that happens you’ll blame me. Say that I lied to you it was by her orders.”

“I wouldn’t –“ she protests, but Arthur interrupt her.

“She won’t do anything to me. Gwaine, stay and cover for us if you can. Do you know if Lancelot is in?”

“It’s his day off. But are you sure you should be going out alone? If something happens to you we’re screwed.”

He chuckles. It’s a flattering thought but one he knows to be false. “You’d be just fine without me. But I’m not planning on getting caught.”

“If you say so, princess. But I wouldn’t be fine after Gwen, Merlin and Morgana had chewed me to tiny little unrecognisable pieces for letting you wander off on your own, just so you know.”

“I’m not asking for your permission,” Arthur points out.

It all goes smoothly; by the time Arthur is returning the first messages are already being painted to the walls and echo the streets in hushed whispers.

 

**MERLIN X**

An ugly, grey-green shroud hangs on the mountaintops above them, leaving them to descend into the valley in a gloomy half-light. Large boulders have rolled down the slopes, often strangely standing tall instead of lying flat on the ground, and from afar they look like guardians looking over the valley. Merlin and Balinor have to fiddle through more than one tight crack to make progress – and even though logically Merlin knows that the moss and the plants growing on the rock surface means that they have stood still for a long time it doesn’t stop him from surveying them suspiciously for any sign that they are planning to fall on him as he passes them by.

The steep slope within their circle is covered only by brown grass and some bushes, and they make quick job of the journey down. Privately Merlin is starting to wonder if they are in the right place; the nature seems untouched, free from any signs of human interference. There should have been at least a road close by for transporting the things that had needed storing.

What would they do if they could find nothing? Search all nearby valleys or head back in defeat without their best triumph card, Morgana’s fate left to plan B’s that don’t even properly exist.

They cross a small stream running down from the mountain, its waters stained to a forbidding orange colour. One plant seems to be enjoying it though, branching along the surface like strange vine, small blue flowers staring up at them as they leap over to the edge of the woods covering most of the valley.

“It should be to the northeast, hopefully,” Balinor says, bent over the map and compass.

“Hopefully,” Merlin echoes.

“Well, we cannot be completely certain, of course,” Balinor says and carefully rolls the map back into his rucksack and motions him to follow.

The woods in the valley are much thicker than the forest they travelled through earlier, both due to the branches hanging lower and the thick vegetation that feels like it’s actively trying to trap Merlin by wrapping itself around him and leeching into his clothes. He remembers reading about carnivorous plants and gives his surroundings a suspicious scan. As far as he can tell they have no mouths to swallow him with. Maybe he is being a bit ridiculous.

He does spot insects and worms though, wiggling along the leaves and making Merlin’s skin crawl in response. It takes him awhile to notice that he is unconsciously wiping his clothes constantly, though noticing doesn’t make him stop.

Finally, seemingly out of nowhere the woods fan out, leaving them to peer up to the northeast wall of the valley.

As far as Merlin can tell there is no sign of secret warehouse, just few bushes, trees – even flowers. On one rocky slope they hang down like over a – Merlin stops and squints, then walks closer for a better look of what resembles a huge doorway covered by vine.

He can make out sharp grey angles in the shadows: concrete. His pulse picks up, blood thrumming in his fingertips together with his magic, responding to his excitement. There could be a dragon behind these very doors.

“Balinor,” he calls, reaching to move the vines aside, but nature has woven them together into a tight mat that refuses to budge. In frustration Merlin yanks them towards himself and something gives and in the next moment the whole mass of plant with its roots and considerable amount of soil is falling, punching him to the ground and forcing the air out of his lungs with a whoosh.

“Merlin!” Balinor yells and then the plant is being lifted off him. Merlin wants to say he would have been perfectly capable of moving it himself because it hadn’t even been that heavy, but he is too busy trying to gasp enough air through the damnable mask to be able to form words. Defeated by a plant. He can practically hear Arthur’s laughter.

“Are you alright?” Balinor asks, face hovering uncomfortably close to Merlin’s own.

“Yes,” Merlin manages to wheeze out, twisting his body away from Balinor. The concern might have meant something years ago, but Merlin sternly tells himself that it’s no longer the case. The ship carrying the chance for their reconciliation has long passed.

As his breathing finally deigns to settle he sits up. In front of him looms a frame of concrete emerging from the earth, holding a heavy looking metal door. The door itself is covered in numerous yellow-black warning signs, and rows of text, many written in strange languages or even with completely different letters. Even the English seems foreign, old and weirdly twisty like in the old books he has read, but at least he understands the message: it’s a warning to stay out from the dangerous military site on the threat of persecution.

Balinor offers him a hand up and refusing to be childish he takes it, though he cannot bring himself to utter even the most insincere word of thanks. Instead he bends to inspect the door. A complicated lock system is clearly installed to the door frame, further protected by wards. However, it’s obvious that there is more to it, though Merlin can’t quite figure out what it is. He is relatively sure he could dismantle the wards with some time and the lock would break too, but he suspects that if he touches stem straight away there is a possibility that he will end up jamming the whole system.

And there is something inside, a presence that is slowly dripping through and reaching to touch him; in his mind’s eye he sees a ball of roaring blue light in darkness and slowly a body materialises around it. The body of a dragon. Its dark eyes start glowing with the same blue fire and suddenly the head turns and the dragon looks straight at him, full of joy.

>> I know you. <<

Merlin opens his eyes with a gasp. The door rattles.

“Get back!” he shouts at Balinor before diving sideway away from the door. Looking over his shoulder he sees how the door continues shaking, wards lighting up like stars before shattering when the door falls forwards with a deafening bang.

The whole world holds its breath – or that’s what it feels like – waiting for something. A dragon, Merlin thinks, waiting for a fucking dragon. _Aithusa._

Clang. Clang. Metal against concrete until the gleaming thing bursts out, sliding to stop and craning its long and elegant neck to look around. The scales are white-gold, the claws sharp and black – the body is sleek like a predators. And the wings – for a second Merlin thinks they’re incomplete with only the framework mimicking bones in place but when she stretches them the image of the trees behind her bends and darkens ever so slightly, caused by some sort of energy field – probably magical.

The control over his own body seems to have deserted him for he can neither look away or move his legs no matter how his instincts scream at him to back away slowly.

Aithusa – he has no clue how he knows her name or that she is indeed a she – turns to him, wings still outstretches, making her appear even larger and more threatening, until she lowers her wings and head.

>> You’re not her, << she says with evident anxiety. >> You feel like her but you’re not her. Why? <<

“I – umm apparently my magical signature was right for waking you.”

Aithusa looks around again. >> She has gone then, both of them have. << She sounds distressed. >> We lost and I was sealed away. How long has it been? <<

“Is it speaking to you?” Balinor exclaims from where he is crouching half-behind a tree.

“Yes. Umm.” He turns his attention back to Aithusa. “It has been a bit over two hundred years since the end of the war.”

>> And they are still here. That’s why you have come. <<

Merlin doesn’t have to ask who “they” are. He nods.

“We need help.”

>> I will kill them. <<

“No!” Merlin says quickly. “There has been enough killing. But we need a threat.”

Aithusa’s tail swishes in air with a sharp crack. >> Their death has been written into my soul and you are simply one part of the key. Where is the rider? <<

“The rider?”

>> No child of magic may ride me. <<

Arthur, Merlin thinks, eyes widening with the realisation.

In his peripheral vision he notes Balinor stalking towards them. “I will ride you,” Balinor proclaims. “I bind you by –“

Aithusa’s jaws open, revealing a mouth filled with sharp teeth and she growls, the sound rumbling straight through Merlin into his bones, leaving him unsteady.

“You smell of them, dog,” she hisses, the voice coming out of her throat more scratchy than when she spoke in Merlin’s mind. “You pathetic magicks do not work on me. Why have you come, where are your masters?”

“What are you doing?” Merlin snaps at him. “We did not talk about anything like this.”

Balinor has frozen on his tracks, hand hovering in an aborted motion to reach for Aithusa’s flank.

“We need to bind her to a rider, that’s what the texts said,” he says, but his voice is apologetic and trembles nervously.

“Only he –” Aithusa says, flicking her tail at Merlin. “– can bind the rider. And the rider cannot have magic.”

“Nothing like that was mentioned in the notes,” Balinor insists, stepping towards him. “Merlin, you must bind me to her.”

“Why you?” he asks suspiciously. He does not like this in the slightest.

Balinor gestures at him impatiently. “Your Arthur is not exactly here, is he? And we need to make sure she obeys us.”

>> I’ll obey you and my rider, << Aithusa tells him privately.

“It’s alright,” he says firmly to Balinor. “Aithusa, we are short of time. Could you carry us back to Camelot?”

“I’ll take you,” she says. “But not him.”

Merlin glances nervously to Balinor, whose tense posture promises nothing good. Merlin curses the mask and goggles for making it almost impossible to read anything specific from his expression.

“Please,” he tries.

>> His magic has been tainted by theirs and by all rights I should kill him, but I sense that is not your wish. But do not ask me to carry him on my wings. <<

He has no idea what Aithusa means by tainted, but he supposes it must have something to do with the fact that Balinor had been in contact with Nimueh for so long, using her spells. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to tell her that they’re working with an immortal though. He suspects she would not take it well.

To his surprise Balinor says, “It’s alright. You take her and get her bound to your Arthur, I’ll follow on foot. I can leave now, but you should wait until nightfall in case there are hunters and scavengers outside.”

Merlin scrutinises him for a moment but can’t find anything wrong with the idea. Balinor couldn’t contact anyone from the wilderness even if he was trying to betray them so Merlin really can’t see anything wrong with letting him go alone.

“If you’re sure?” he looks to the sky, where he can barely make out the outline of the pale sun. It’s still hours till sundown.

“It seems to be the only reasonable course of action that everybody is willing to accept.”

Is that a barb at him for not trying to bind Aithusa on Balinor against her will? He can’t quite tell. He watches quietly how Balinor goes to pick up the rucksack he had dropped in the earlier excitement.

He dangles it in the air for a moment, lost in thought and then throws it over his shoulder. “Take care, son,” he says and Merlin hates how small part of him perks up, pleased.

“You too.”

>> You’re his son? << Aithusa asks, sounding confused.

“Yes. At least in blood,” Merlin answers absently, watching how the vegetation swallows Balinor greedily in a few short moments.

“Let’s tell your rider we’re coming then,” he says with a faint grin up at Aithusa. Her metallic face doesn’t exactly allow her expressions, but her voice tells Merlin all about how excited she is.

>> You can contact him? When will we meet him? Can I talk to him? <<

One could almost feel jealous.

“Yes, hopefully this evening, and I don’t think so.”

>> Ah, << she says forlornly before peaking up again. >> Is it evening yet? It is quite dark. <<

“I’m afraid that’s just the clouds. Few more hours. I’ll contact him now, okay?”

He focuses on Arthur, the golden thread of magic that has curled to sleep in the back of his mind.

>> Arthur? <<

>> Sec, I’m not alone. << His presence fades momentarily and Merlin feels him focusing on someone momentarily before returning to Merlin. >> Okay, now. Is everything alright, did you –? <<

>> We found her. <<

>> Her? That’s good. You managed to wake her up? <<

Merlin chuckles. >> Didn’t take much managing, she broke out from the vault when we found her. <<

Arthur is full of stunned disbelief. >> Woah. So we really have a dragon. <<

>> Yes. There is just one small thing. <<

>> There always is. <<  

Merlin hopes his mental “rude” comes across.

>> As I was saying there is one small thing, which is that she says her rider cannot have magic. <<

>> What? But I thought you were the chosen or compatible or whatever one? <<

>> I’m not exactly clear on the details. She has agreed to take me to Camelot to meet you, though. <<

>> Me? << Arthur sounds actually startled.

>> How many people without magic do we have again? << he asks pointedly.

>> Funny, Merlin. You clearly missed your calling as an entertainer of the high ups. <<

Aithusa’s muzzle pokes at his arm gently, he holds one finger up at her to indicate a minute.

>> Listen, she is getting a bit impatient. Promise me you’ll meet us there. Don’t take Nimueh! <<

A warm flash of worry wraps itself around Merlin momentarily. >> I’ll be there and we can talk properly then. And for goodness sake be careful. <<

>> Yeah yeah, bye, love you too, << he answers fondly before he realises what he has said and severs the connection as fast as he can, heart galloping wildly. He hadn’t meant it that way. Arthur knew that. No reason to panic at all. He lifts his hand to his chest and tries to will himself to calm down.

He jumps when Aithusa carefully pokes him and lets out a nervous laugh. “He’ll be there.”

**ARTHUR X**

Gwen and Gwaine are sitting on Merlin’s bed, both watching Arthur with equally gobsmacked and excited expressions.

“I really can’t quite comprehend it,” Gwen says. She leans forward, dark eyes sparkling. “Can I come with you tonight?”

Arthur hesitates and Gwen’s face falls.

“C’mon,” Gwaine drawls. “It’s not fair you get to run off to all these cool things alone!”

“I have hardly been running off to all these cool things as you put it!” Arthur protests, affronted. If Gwaine thought this is all some light hearted adventure he should bloody well think again.

“Of course not,” Gwen says placatingly. Arthur does not miss the elbow she digs into Gwaine’s side nor Gwaine’s obvious wince. He almost winces in sympathy himself. “But,” she continues. “Nimueh is hardly going to check on us in the middle of the night so there is really no reason for you to go alone.”

“Guinevere,” he tries, but she stares his excuses down. “Fine,” he sighs.

“We have few problems though,” Gwaine points out. “How will we find the right tunnel and how will we get through the barrier?”

Arthur had considered both of these problems and he had also developed a list of possible solutions.

“Merlin can take one, maybe two people through with that thing Nimueh gave him.”

“But we’d have to wait for him inside!” Gwaine exclaims, looking betrayed.

“Yes. As for getting there I was hoping Sefa could help us.”

They both look conflicted, and it’s nothing Arthur didn’t expect because that is exactly how he feels about involving her any more than he already has. She is barely more than a child, he thinks with a wave of guilt, though he is not blind to the irony that they’re not that much older themselves.

“It’s her decision, of course,” he adds when neither of them fails to say anything.

“And what if she doesn’t know the way?”

Arthur shrugs. “Then we hope that Merlin can give us some kind of instructions.”

xxx

Sefa only glances at him quickly when he enters the storeroom. Her hand is hovering above the sprouts, surrounded by a faint greenish glow.

“What?” she asks when he tries to politely wait for her to be finished. Apparently she is not going to stop on his account, he thinks and smiles faintly.

“I have come to ask for another favour. You’re welcome to say no.”

She nods, attention still on her plants.

“If you know the way Merlin and Balinor took would you be willing to show me, Gwaine and Gwen the way later tonight?”

Finally the glow disappears from her hands and she turns to look at Arthur. “They’re back?” she asks, excitement creeping into her voice.

He doesn’t see the point in lying and nods. “Hopefully,” he says though it hadn’t escaped his notice that Merlin had said nothing about Balinor.

The gather in the staircase a bit after nine. Arthur has been forced into wearing Gwen’s scarf again because at least it could offer him momentary protection outside; they hadn’t managed to find any extra masks despite some discreet rummaging.

“Everybody ready?” he asks, checking the knife in his jacket for tenth time within ten minutes.

They nod mutely, unwilling to break the silence any more than necessary, and Arthur takes the lead. The main doors of the tower have been open since they first arrived and Arthur is relieved to them so even at night – not that night and day have much difference underground. Though looking out of the door now he could swear the lights are a bit dimmer than usually.

They have barely made it out of the doors when a familiar voice stops them. “You have no reason to sneak out like thieves, you know?” Nimueh says conversationally, stepping away from the wall of the tower Mordred at her heels.

Arthur’s hand creeps up towards the knife for all the good it could do to him against Nimueh. She gives him a reproachful look.

“That’s not terribly nice. Relax, I’m not here to stop you. I know about your little communication device – lovely piece of work. And honestly I’m amazed that you thought you could actually sneak in and out without my knowledge, especially when you didn’t even have to.” She sighs, put upon. “I suppose I can’t fault you for your suspicions.”

Arthur lower his hand, stepping slightly forward to cover the others. “So are you coming with us then?”

“To meet a dragon programmed to kill me? Goodness no!” she exclaims with a wry smile. “But I have one more stone of passage I thought you could use. And it would be terribly unfair to leave poor Mordred behind, don’t you agree?”

Mordred gives them a tiny nod, hood falling down on his eyes. Arthur smiles at him and Gwen steps up to his side to offer Mordred a hand.

“Of course you can come with us,” she says, bending down to smile at him. After a moment’s hesitation Mordred takes her hand.

Nimueh hands Arthur a small pollution mask, obviously meant for Mordred, and a small, smooth surfaced stone similar to the ones she had given to Merlin and Balinor.

“Thank you,” he says with a sudden twinge of guilt. He meets her eyes squarely though.

“I’m not doing this for you,” she says, the already familiar sharp smile flashing on her lips.

xxx

They are walking down one of the tunnels when suddenly the world around him drops away and for a moment he sees dark night sky, feels the powerful stroke of wings under him and the cold wind pushing through his clothes and his heart soars with euphoria – Merlin’s euphoria.

>> Merlin? << he tries even as the intensity of the image fades.

>> We’ll be there soon, << Merlin says, hushed with awe. The closing of the link feels like a slap in the face and Arthur leans against the wall to gather his bearings.

The others turn to stare at him with concerned expressions. “Are you alright?” Gwen asks, reaching to try his brow with her hand. He waves her away and pushes himself upright.

“It was just Merlin,” he says. “He’ll be here soon.”

“I think we’re almost at the barrier,” Sefa offers and Mordred nods.

Surely enough they arrive to it after what could not have been more than few minutes. It’s amazing to think that the barrier stretches down even through the ground and yet there it is, a translucent blue wall in the middle of underground tunnel.

“So,” he says. “Nimueh told Merlin these stones could take anyone who was touching them through.” He lifts the stone up; it’s pathetically small, but they could hopefully all manage it in one go.

Sefa shuffles a step backwards. “Umm,” she says. “I’m just going to wait here.”

“We can hardly let you wait alone!” Gwen says with a worried frown.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Arthur says, but she shakes her head.

“It’s alright,” she insists, staring at her feet.

“Are you sure?” Gwaine asks and she nods at the floor.

Arthur doesn’t want to push her but he doesn’t want to leave her to wait alone either and yet there seems to be little choice. He can’t force any of the others to stay with her either. Gwen meets his eyes.

“I’ll stay,” she says. “I’m sure I’ll get to meet this dragon of yours at some point.”

“You’re too nice,” Gwaine mutters under his breath and skilfully dodges Gwen’s elbow.

The rest of them gather around Arthur to touch the stone and carefully they inch through, mask themselves and continue forwards. The tunnel does not branch out here, just takes them to a flight of stairs which ends to a trapdoor. It’s made of metal and there seem to be no gaps at the side to let anything through. There is a latch too, and an old padlock, but they’re both unlocked as expected because of Merlin’s and Balinor’s passage.

Glancing down to the expectant faces of the others he pushes the trapdoor upwards. It’s dark, though not pitch black and when he lifts his upper body outside to peer around a breeze ruffles his hair and clothes and stings his eyes.

He can’t see much in the limited light though Camelot sheds some light around it. It’s mostly waste, though he can see a forestline near the walls in the south. In front of it hovers a mist – or some sort of fume cloud – a seemingly luminescent sea of blues, greens and even yellow and purple.

They all climb out, awed into a reverent silence. Was this even close to the world they had fled when they had closed themselves into Camelot? Had much changed in two hundred years?

He peers to the northern sky, looking for Merlin, but the air is murky and the sky almost completely overcast. Though the little glimpses of dark sky he catches occasionally give him insight into the wonder Merlin had described.

“I don’t know –” he starts to say, when he spots a flash of something in the clouds.

Heart soaring he watches how the gleaming figure glides down, giant wings of translucent blue stretching out to sides and starts descend towards them. Without looking away he points. Mordred, standing at Arthur’s side lets out a small gasp.

Quickly the dragon grows larger and soon the figure on board is also visible; Arthur lets out the tiniest relieved sigh.

The dragon circles over them twice, coming lower each time until it starts controlled descent by beating its wings down while lifting a cloud of sand up to the air. For a moment they become an obscured shadow until the dragon lands and the cloud settles and then Merlin is already on the ground, turning towards them from the dragon’s flank.

Arthur half runs, half strides to meet him in the middle where they stop, barely a breath’s distance away from each other. Merlin reaches to lift the goggles away from his eyes.

“Can’t see anything in the dark with these blasted things on,” he says breathlessly, eyes sparkling, and Arthur really can’t help himself when he wraps Merlin into a hug.

The physical contact opens also their connection and Merlin’s surprise and pleasure flood in as Arthur presses their bodies tightly together. He is almost overwhelmingly glad to have Merlin back and in one piece.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes into his hair and pulls back a little, though his hands do not stray away from Arthur’s neck.

The large head of the dragon appearing behind Merlin’s shoulder to peer at Arthur with burning blue eyes startles him into stepping properly away.

“You really did it,” he says wonderingly, eyes caressing the pale metallic surface of her scales.

“Is this him?” the dragon asks. “Your Arthur, my rider?”

Arthur lifts an eyebrow at Merlin who is positively radiating mortification.

“Balinor!” he says hastily. “He called you my Arthur and well, ahh.” He turns to look at the dragon. “Aithusa, yes, this is Arthur but he isn’t really my Arthur.”

“But he is my rider?”

“Well, yes. If we bind him to you.”

“Well then!” Arthur thinks she must be smiling. “Nice to meet you, Arthur. I’m Aithusa.”

She lowers her head towards him and hesitantly Arthur lifts his hand to touch the hard surface of her muzzle.

“It’s my pleasure,” he says. “If you don’t mind I have a few questions?” He glances over his shoulder to Mordred and Gwaine who seem to be quite content to admire Aithusa from their spot further away and focuses back to the matter at hand.

“Why do we need the rider to be bound to you? You let Merlin ride you.”

“There are several sections to my programming that I cannot access without a rider who in turn can policy their use. Similarly I need a magic user with specific magical signature to wake me up and keep me functional as well as to bind the rider.”

It sounds like a good system to prevent rogues, he supposes, and nods absently at Aithusa. “Sounds like we should do it then.”

Merlin lifts up a finger and glances between them. “I have no idea what to do.”

Aithusa sighs. It’s a deep sound rumbling out of her chest. “At least back in the day they were trained,” she says, probably mostly to herself. “You both need to make skin contact with me and each other. Then Merlin needs to say _dō̂_ and simply focus his magic on me and I’ll take care of the rest.”

It sounds pretty simple to Arthur but Merlin looks dubious even as he removes his gloves and offers his hand to Arthur. It’s nice and warm, and the connection between them flares to life the moment they touch. With a silent look of encouragement to each other they reach to touch Aithusa.

Arthur gasps. There is darkness, then a ball of blue fire floating in the middle of the abyss. >> Aithusa, << he thinks, a wave of warmth washing over him and he blinks back into the desert air.

“It is done,” Aithusa says, stretching her wings. Merlin looks just as confused as Arthur feels, hair sticking up and mouth hanging open.

“Are you going to be alright alone for two day?” he asks. “That’s when Morgana’s trial will be held.”

Merlin glances at him sharply and Arthur widens his eyes innocently in response. It’s not like he has known for long and they haven’t exactly had time for a chat.

“Of course,” Aithusa says. “It’s good to be outside.”

“Just be careful not to be seen,” Merlin says. Aithusa huffs at him.

“We should get going,” Arthur says. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Merlin nods and fleetingly runs his fingers over Aithusa’s scales as a farewell.

**MERLIN XI**

Merlin does appreciate Arthur’s plan a lot. He had even quite happily listened through it the first twelve times and discussed details and offered suggestions, especially the things that actually needed changing due to Arthur having to be the one to ride Aithusa. But Arthur is currently on the twenty fourth recount of the day, and quite frankly it is driving them all crazy. Gwaine had had the wisdom the sneak away to “bathroom” after fifteenth round of discussion and Nimueh seems to have meditated into another plane of existence. Gwen’s expression has turned from exasperated to suffering and now she looks like she is contemplating knocking Arthur out with the journal on the table. Merlin thinks he should probably prevent that. Head injuries can be tricky.

“Arthur,” he says.

Arthur stops mid-sentence and furrows his brows. “Shit, I knew it wouldn’t work–“

“Arthur!” he snaps more forcefully and receives a wounded look in return. “Enough. It’s a good plan and we are going to stick with it. For fuck’s sake, it’d be too late to inform everyone else about any major changes anyway. Let it be.”

Arthur opens his mouth but Gwen interrupts before he has a chance to voice his protests. “He is right,” she says. “Your plan is good and we all know what to do. And we all need to try and catch some sleep before tomorrow.”

“I just–“ Arthur starts haltingly, but then stops and lifts his chin. “You’re right, of course.”

Nimueh does not seem aware that Arthur’s soliloquy has ended, her eyes resting serenely on the tabletop in front of her. Merlin wonders if she knows anything about Balinor but stomps the thought down before it has a chance to take root. He doesn’t care.

“Remember to put your alarms on,” Arthur says as Merlin tugs him towards the door, fingers clasped tightly on Arthur’s sleeve but careful not to touch the skin. It’s an agreement they made on the night before, to grant them both privacy in their own heads.

xxx

The prospect of lying down and going to sleep seems much more daunting when Merlin is actually starting to face the very real possibility of it. He stares his bed from the door, tracking Arthur as he undresses from the corner of his eye. If they fail tomorrow they stand to lose everything, including the lives of everybody they have involved, and he remembers keenly why it has been easier to work alone all these years.

He lets his eyes trail fully over Arthur in his boxer briefs, from his powerful, round legs and the golden hair in his chest to the sharp line of his jaw and up to his eyes that are watching Merlin in return.

Merlin wants. He wants for all the wrong reasons and all the right ones, which might well be one and the same, but everything might go pear shaped tomorrow and he is tired of denying himself.

“Arthur,” he says and reaches for Arthur’s bare shoulder.

Arthur watches his moves intently, remaining still as a statue apart from the slight rise and fall of his chest until they are skin to skin. _Anticipation. Dread. Lust. Warmth._ As the connection floods over them a shudder runs over Arthur’s muscles, and Merlin lifts his other hand to chase it, caressing Arthur’s chest before letting his hand slide down over the smooth skin.

Arthur leans in closer, brushing his nose against Merlin’s before his hands find a death grip on Merlin’s neck and lower back, and he smashes his mouth on Merlin’s, uncoordinated and harsh. Merlin responds, giving in to Arthur, giving everything he has to the kiss while clawing at Arthur’s back to bring their bodies closer, hindered by his own clothes he hadn’t had foresight to remove.

“Off,” he pants against Arthur’s lips, feeling like he has just run a mile, whole body hot and sweaty.

Arthur, trying to be helpful for once, tugs the hem of Merlin’s sweater up while trailing his mouth on the hollow of Merlin’s cheeks, leaving every nerve end on fire and banishing most of Merlin’s higher brain function.

Merlin rather forgets the whole sweater in favour of his trousers and pants, which he manages to shove down enough to get his jutting cock out for a hard needed squeeze.

“Fucking hell,” Arthur breathes, looking down, and suddenly Merlin feels embarrassed and vulnerable because this is himself that he is baring to Arthur, not just some image he has conjured. It’s frightening, and he withdraws just a little, but Arthur can feel what he is feeling, or close enough, and he looks up to Merlin’s face. Merlin feels Arthur’s own hesitation, but also something fierce akin to protectiveness curling around him, and lets himself fall into it, anxiety dissipating.  Arthur seems to consider something for a moment before planting a light kiss on Merlin’s nose, like they had done when things had still been a bit simpler.

“It’s just us,” Arthur murmurs, forehead coming to rest against Merlin’s and finger combing through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Obviously,” Merlin mumbles back, a tad bit petulant over being soothed like a frightened animal. “Can we get back to shagging now?”

Arthur buries his face to Merlin’s neck, chuckling. “I suppose.” His lips move on Merlin’s skin, sending down little waves of pleasure. Merlin tries to say something about how much he hates Arthur but it comes out closer to _hngh_ and he figures that it isn’t really all that important anyway.

 

 

 

Merlin comes to consciousness trying to press closer to the lovely warmth radiating from his side. He feels content, even safe, and somehow that doesn’t disturb him as much as it maybe should. It is enough to alert his mind from half-sleep though, and he belatedly registers someone knocking on the door, then Arthur’s body stirring next to his.

“We’ll be out in a sec,” Arthur calls, hand clamping on Merlin’s wrist though Merlin hasn’t even tried to bolt, hasn’t even thought about it really.

“Just checking!” Gwen’s voice calls from the other side of the door, followed by the sound of her retreating footsteps.

“Are you going to freak out?” Arthur asks, careful and unsure, as if not quite certain if he should maybe be freaking out himself.

“Does it feel like I’m going to freak out to you?” Perhaps he should, but this is Arthur and somehow, inexplicably, Merlin trusts Arthur not to break him. It’s a rather startling realisation.

Arthur is silent for a moment and burrows closer, breath tickling Merlin’s skin. “Only a little.”

“Let’s make it through today and we’ll have all the time in the world to freak out,” Merlin says, moving away as he remembers what’s ahead of them and the last thoughts of contentedness flee his mind.

Arthur sighs.

xxx

Arthur and Gwen are bent over Gwen’s computer, which for all Merlin can understand seems to be a bunch of old and new technology with flashing lights and multiple tiny screens, strung together by multicoloured bundles of wire. Arthur is explaining some technical tidbit to Gwen who is nodding along thoughtfully. Merlin glances out of the small attic window over the quiet, wide street to the palace of the Triad standing on the other side.

The crowds will appear later, formed by those unfortunate or fortunate enough to not to have been invited to the courtyard to watch the proceedings. Some of them are simply curious, while some will come to demand justice – whether that justice is blood or Morgana’s release depends on the person.

“Merlin.” Arthur looks up to him, face framed by deep shadows and Merlin finds himself in the previous evening, tracing the line of Arthur’s jaw with his lips. He bites his lip to focus.

“Time to go?” he asks, turning towards the door. He is glad to get moving and end the wretched waiting.

“If you can make them think they lost it themselves it would be the best. Don’t engage unless absolutely necessary.” Merlin rolls his eyes. He _knows._

>> And be careful. << Arthur’s unexpected words in the middle of the steep and narrow wooden staircase make Merlin miss a step and he ends up sitting on his arse, gripping the wobbly railing. Arthur had closed the connection right after the words but Merlin considers opening it again just to insult Arthur – but settles for muttering “prat” under his breath instead.

xxx

He is breaking into the Palace of the Triad – something he would never have contemplated even in his wildest dreams before all this. If Uther had asked he would have laughed and refused, and now it is only theoretically possible because the inner courtyard is to be opened for invited guests, and there is some back and forth traffic already going through the doors in preparation. Also, they’re desperate.

However, the anti-magic wards are stronger than anything Merlin could ever hope to undo or bypass so he has to go traditional. Which is why he unceremoniously grabs a young, brown haired man coming from the palace into a narrow alleyway. The youngster, Gilli, squints at him in the dark.

“You’re the friend?” he asks.

Merlin nods. “Did you get it in place?”

“You’re all good to go,” Gilli says. “Your stones have been added to the wards and they should allow you all to pass.” He rubs his neck. “Did you have to be so rough?”

Merlin ignores the last part. The barrier allowed only people with certain magical signatures to pass and bypassing it had been their biggest concern, but Mithian, who had been invited as a member of the council, had been able to tell them that the guests were required to hand in a stone imprinted with their magic to allow them passage. That meant that there was most probably a core generating and maintaining the barrier which also included the stones from where they could easily be added and removed. Based on what they knew about the layout of the building and shape and movement of the barrier they had been able to calculate few potential locations. It had fallen on Gilli, Isolde’s cousin once removed or something, who had been appointed into the catering staff to find it and insert their stones.

“Any trouble?”

Gilli shakes his head, still looking a bit like wounded puppy. “Few of ours hadn’t been added and I told them I’d take them in. Wasn’t hard to put yours in too.”

Merlin blinks. Apparently half of their work hasn’t even been needed. “That’s – great. You have been invaluable and we appreciate it.”

For the first time Gilli smiles a little, easing the slight oddness of his features. “Thanks.” He peers out of the alley mouth. “I need to go before someone misses me.”

“Of course,” Merlin allows.

He waits until Gilli has disappeared to contact Arthur.

>> Arthur? Barrier is taken care of. <<

Arthur feels distracted, probably still working on something.

>> Good, keep me updated. <<

Time to actually get in. Merlin feels naked without his illusions but the guests are still subject to the anti-magic wards, and so he has to trust on the makeup made by Gwen and his fake staff card labeling him as an appointed engineer. Knowing this is the best way doesn’t stop the magic humming under his skin, itching to be used.

There are two officers standing at the gates, staring passively into thin air in front of them. Merlin recognises neither which hopefully means they won’t recognise him either – he doesn’t want to doubt Gwen’s skills but somehow he doesn’t think the makeup would fool anyone who knows his face properly.

Merlin eyes the communicators on their belts but decides against it. They don’t want to alert the officers into changing the signal before Arthur and Gwen have had a chance to establish a connection – or something of the sort; this is where the details had gotten _very_ hazy for Merlin.

He takes a deep breath, hunches his shoulders and shuffles up to the gate, trying to look small and sheepish, painfully aware how easy it would be to reach for his magic and just make it so–

“Name and business?” one of the guards ask briskly. The other gives him an apologetic smile, and Merlin quickly looks away.

“I’m Daegal Woods. One of the engineers? I’m a bit late, my boss is expecting me.”

The guard glances at the card. “Has your boss cleared you to get in?”

“Yes, he should have, I gave him the thing.”

The guard hands the card back. “If things are not in order you can’t get through, but I need to pat you through first.” Merlin barely hides a flinch. He has two knives and few lockpicks, but they’re well hidden. It doesn’t stop him from holding his breath until the “All clear,” the guard gives with a last pat. “Take the first door on the right, then go right, walk to the end of the hallway, take the stairs up, turn left and you should find your boss on the second door left.”

Merlin nods, head bent, and walks through the wards, and immediately ceases to be any interest at all to the guards. _Too easy?_

The outer courtyard is fairly small, shadowed by the high walls stretching around it. A gate to the main courtyard stands closed, but numerous smaller doors are open. He takes the door on the right, but turns left. The walls are familiar grey, but the floor under his feet is strange polished green stone, and if he squints he can see his reflection stretching down underneath his feet.

He turns into a random staircase. He is looking for a stroke of luck, and it’s hardly a comforting thought; a storage room might work, some sort of break room would be even better.

He is on the third floor when a door opens and closes behind him. The steps turn to his direction. Carefully, Merlin keeps his pace and posture the same; small and intimidated, not too confident, but not so lost as to invite attention–

“Hey, you! What’s your business on this floor?”

Merlin turns. A guard, of course. Merlin scans the hallway, looking for the door the guard came from in the hopes there might be something there. He locates the door, but first he needs to manage this.

“I’m looking for the engineering base? I should report there.”

The guard gives him an amused look. “You’re a bit lost, friend.”

Merlin tries to look sheepish. “Uhh, could you point me to the right direction?”

“It’s lucky I came across you actually, we have a bit of situation with one of our engines and I was just leaving to find an engineer,” the man gives him a blinding grin.

Merlin thinks: _shitshitshitshit._ “I really need to report,” he tries.

The man waves his hand. “I’m sure it won’t take long and I’ll explain the situation to your superior afterwards. Follow me.”

Merlin looks at the empty corridor behind and ahead of them. Could he incapacitate the man effectively enough? He doesn’t judge his chances very good – knocking people out safely and effectively without magic was near impossible.  He slides a small blade into his hand. _This is not who I am anymore,_ he thinks, but knows it might be who he needs to be right now.

The guard stops in front of a door. “Do you need anything? We have some supplies here.”

He steps forward, closer. He knows where to stick the knife for a quiet and clean death. The guard lets out a small gargle and crumples against Merlin’s arms. He’s heavy and Merlin’s fingers feel numb. The knife is slippery with blood, but none of it has spilled to the floor.

Merlin drags the body into the supply room and pushes it to the back, moving a huge bucket and a cleaning supply cart to block the view from the door. His breath stutters, a wave of nausea and weakness shaking his insides. _Later._ A deep breath, and his mental walls are up. Nothing matters.

He takes the communicator, cleans the few drops of blood from the floor and from his hands and walks out.

 

**ARTHUR XI**

Everything is in order. Merlin had found the communicator, they have an access, everyone apart from him is ready.

“You need to go and get Aithusa,” Merlin says in an oddly detached voice, face carefully blank. It worries Arthur, but Merlin is right, he really needs to go.

He looks to Nimueh. “Keep Gwen, Sefa, and Mordred safe.”

She nods absently. “Good luck.”

xxx

Aithusa is buzzing with excitement. “This is what I was made for,” she tells him, and Arthur can feel the magic turning inside her, fueling the blue flame at her core. “When can we go?”

“Soon,” Arthur tells her.

The air is filled with harsh, swirling sand, but the sun is still burning through it. “Are you sure we can fly through this?” Not that they have a choice.

“Again, yes.”

>> Arthur. We are in. They have brought Morgana out. Come. << Arthur jolts.

>> Coming. <<

The timing is delicate. If they were to appear before Morgana had been brought out it could have ruined everything, but if they are too late –.

He puts a hand down to Aithusa’s neck. “Time to go.”

He is glad for the makeshift harness around his legs when Aithusa pushes herself into the air in one swift movement of power and grace that rolls through her whole back. And then they’re flying. His whole body tingles with nerves, excitement and the power of the wind hitting against him, and his head is light with giddiness and a tingle of fear. He never thought anything would rival the joy of cars, their engines purring with magic, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of the dragon’s machine working under him to make them _fly_.

He only sees the barrier moments before they crash straight into it. Nimueh had assured them that while Aithusa’s magic would momentarily nullify it, it would spring back up. _We will feel that something happens_ , she had added, _both me and them._

He expects some sort of impact, maybe just a jolt through his body, but instead the barrier just blinks out of existence as soon as Aithusa touches it. Below them, the greens of the city top stretch out like insanely complicated garden maze. The harsh brightness of the sun banishes the dreamy blue away momentarily, the sand crashes down after them, and the whole city seems to bow in the gush of wind that races in with glee – and then the barrier is back up, like it was never gone in the first place. The wind bounces and howls – and dies.

The sand falls down as a shower of golden rain, and Aithusa dives towards the centre and the palace.

 

**MERLIN XII**

Gwaine gets in with a fake invitation, but Merlin doesn’t want to risk showing his face at the gate for a second time, so he ends up climbing up a wall hanging from a rope Gwaine has thrown him from the inside. He hopes the small group of protesters – much smaller than they had hoped for – at the front is keeping the attention of the guards away.

There’s a small tug at the rope and he freezes, looking up. Gwaine is leaning back, almost out of the window, blocking the view from inside.

“Hello, honey,” he says at someone on the other side.

Merlin can’t make out the answer but it sounds annoyed. He prays Gwaine handles this fast, because his hands are burning and his legs aren’t faring much better.

“I’m just waiting for someone to get away – if you know what I mean? Care to join us?”

After a moment Gwaine moves and looks down to Merlin, waving him up.

“I can’t believe you got rid of someone by offering them threesome,” Merlin pants out as he pushes himself over the windowsill.

Gwaine shrugs and offers him a hand for support, which Merlin gratefully takes. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“What if they had accepted?”

“Flattering,” Gwaine says with a cocky grin, which, Merlin admits, is rather unfairly handsome. “But I’ll have you know I can do an excellent creepy leer. I put even the craziest old uncle to shame.” Leave it to Gwaine to be proud of that. He frowns at Merlin. “Also I hope nobody takes a too good look at your clothes.”

Merlin looks down, and pats some dust away, though it doesn’t magically turn the clothes into something festive. He needed something he could climb in, so the simple dark pants and the blue shirt had been the best solution

“Can’t be helped,” he says, and fishes Gwaine’s gun from his belt and hands it to him. “Let’s go.”

The main courtyard is already full of people. Though these are supposedly the most loyal supporters of the Triad, the atmosphere is a weird mix of apprehension and excitement, voices hushed but urgent. How much of the apprehension he is simply projecting himself is another question altogether.

He spots Mithian in the crowd, but is careful not to look to long. There are fewer guards and officers – at least in uniform – than he expected. Maybe their distraction is working.

Morgause and Cedric are standing at the edges of the stage, surveying the area with profeesional stoicism. In the middle stands the executioner's block, drawing the eye; it’s a fairly small, nondescript block of wood with a dent on the top that seems to suck all the light from the air around it. A sudden wave of cold washes over Merlin.

“Not long now,” Gwaine says.

Suddenly the light seems to dim around them, the crowd stops in mid breath – and the hooded figures of the Triad materialise on the stage.

Silence lingers, every soul reluctant to be the one to break it, until behind the stage a large gate rolls open with a ear-piercing wail.

Morgana seems to stand tall and fierce from the distance, but when the guard pushes her forward she stumbles. Merlin tells Arthur to come. Next to him he sees Gwaine pressing the button of a small device that should send Gwen the signal to cut the communications.

Morgana gathers herself and walks forward without another misstep. Her hair is brushed and she is wearing clean, if simple white shirt. She looks better than Merlin thought she would and he allows himself a moment of relief, even if he wonders. Maybe the Triad wants to present Morgana as dangerous adversary and not as a beaten prisoner.

Merlin wonders if she knows they’re here and believes in them, or if she thinks she is walking to her death to become a martyr, or if her mind is occupied by something else altogether.

Hesitantly people shuffle forwards craning their necks, reminding Merlin of illustrations of confused birds he has seen in children’s books. It’s easy to push through them to the front.

Morgana is almost at the stage when a deafening whoosh washes over them, and a harsh light hits the ground. Far above them, on the roof of the palace, a statue falls and crashes down to a balcony below it. The people stare frozen, but Merlin looks up to the sky, where, for a moment, it looks like it’s raining gold. He smiles, though it doesn’t feel like a nice smile.

Then, suddenly it’s over, the air stills and the twilight blue returns, but the people start shifting around, sharing worried whispers. He looks up to the stage, and for a heart-stopping moment he thinks Morgause is staring straight at him, but her eyes move away without a flicker of recognition on her face. Merlin sighs in relief.

Something familiar catches in the corner of his eye, and he turns to look, and feels like all the blood in his veins freezes over. Balinor is walking around the edge of the yard, purposefully striding past people, and if Merlin is not mistaken he is trying to reach the closest guard. _Why?_ It doesn’t matter what he means to do, because it has the potential of destroying all their plans.

“I’m leaving Morgana to you,” he hisses to Gwaine, and pushes himself into the mass of bodies without caring about Gwaine’s startled “What!”.

Merlin curses everyone and everything as he pushes against the people who have turned their attention to the Triad, still quiet; Balinor has much easier time moving at the edges. Merlin is maybe twenty feet away and Balinor has almost reached the guard.

“Excuse me!” he growls at the woman and man effectively draped over his path and pushes through their interviewed hands.

Balinor reaches the guard and gestures wildly; Merlin can hear the agitation in his voice, but he can’t make out the words. The guard reaches for his communicator, says something, frowns, and tries again. Merlin thanks the universe for Gwen and looks at Balinor, dread settling more determinedly into his stomach.

The guard turns toward the stage. “Father,” Merlin says loudly, and Balinor turns to him, a wild look in his eyes. The guard looks like he is going to rush forward, so Merlin throws himself past the last few bodies straight at him. The impact knocks the breath out of his lungs, and the angle is less than ideal, but it brings the guard to his knees. In a stroke of luck the Triad have started talking, and only one woman is staring at them in confusion. Merlin flings his knife out and places it at the guard’s throat.

“Don’t move,” he says quietly, he feels the pulse of the guard jump under his fingers.

“Merlin,” Balinor says. There is a note of desperation there, and something Merlin desperately hopes isn’t guilt. He looks. The guilt is written all over his face. “Merlin, you need to leave and abandon this foolish plan!” he says fiercely, but quiet enough to stop his voice from carrying. “You don’t understand what you’re doing!”

“I think I do. I’d also like to say the same to you. You’re working for them?” What a foolish hope it had been to think he could have had family, and that he could have been something else than a killer.

>> Prepare << Arthur says in his mind, brilliant light flashing through the dark.

“I’m working to preserve this city! Merlin, please,” Balinor hisses, and eyes darting past Merlin.

Merlin takes a better hold of his knife, thinks and remembers, and stabs his knife into the guard’s shoulder. The scream spreads over the space, bounces off the walls and turns the heads. Mentally Merlin wills Gwaine to move, lets the wailing guard to fall down, and turns his bloody knife to Balinor.

“And Morgana is working to make it better,” Merlin says simply and lunges at his father.

 

**GWEN**

At Gwaine’s signal Gwen shuts down the communications. A fierce joy bubbles through even her worry as her _computer_ works exactly as it should, filling her with energy. She jumps up from her chair, and looks to Nimueh.

“It’s happening,” Gwen says.

Nimueh smiles, eyes distant.

“Finally,” she says and looks down from the window. “But I’m not sure our protesters are being distractive enough. The guards will soon spot the dragon and retreat inside.”

Gwen walks to her side, and looks towards the group gathered outside the gates. They stand in apparent silence, a scared but determined protest against Morgana’s fate. Someone is holding a candle in their hands. It’s touching, but it’s not enough.

“I’m going out,” Gwen says.

 

**ARTHUR XII**

The palace of the Triad looks large even when you are sitting on top of a flying dragon, and it gets even larger disturbingly quickly when you’re diving down at full speed. Panic flutters around in his stomach as air tries to rip him off Aithusa’s back with ravenous claws, but inexplicably Arthur trusts her like extension of his own body and all fear has faded into a distant hum.

The world is a blur of colour and disoriented shapes, and the air roars in his ears until he is smashed against Aithusa’s back with a painful force and his vision jumps into focus; Aithusa has spread her wings, and is slowing down for landing. Despite the protests of his bruised and aching body he bends over to survey the ground under. There are too many people on the courtyard, he thinks with a sinking feeling, too many to land, too many that will get caught in the crossfire. One of the balconies is half destroyed by a statue, but another one seems intact, and hopefully large and sturdy enough for them to land.

>> Aithusa, the balcony, << he thinks at her, and she hums under him, spreading her wings in a whoosh and gliding over the courtyard to land with a sharp jolt, stone cracking under her claws.

“I can taste them,” she rumbles. “Immortal witches, I was made to end you!”

Arthur can see them, standing on the stage. Their hooded heads are turned towards them in inhuman synchrony. And Morgana, held still with a gun to her head and another aimed at her face by Cedric. Morgause is pointing her gun at Gwaine, but Merlin’s nowhere in sight.

Under him, Aithusa’s scales are turning warm, her back is rounding and her wings are stretching out.

>> Wait! You’ll hurt the others too! <<

She swishes her tail. >> They must die. <<

>> NO! They must be stopped, there is a difference. <<

Her tail swishes again.

Someone steps on the stage.

Her dress is short and red, Arthur notes, as are her lips, and her dark hair a crow’s nest; a strange crown. Nimueh. She is not supposed to be here.

“Hail, sisters,” she says, and her voice carries.

The Triad turn their heads away from Arthur and Aithusa to her as one. A second tick by, then one of them lifts her gloved hand from the long sleeves of her dress and pulls her hood down. She looks younger than Nimueh, younger than Arthur, and her hair is made from spun gold.

“Hail, Nimueh the Traitor,” she says.

The two others pull their hoods down. One has a dark skin and black hair, and few more years on her, but the last of the Triad looks old, her hair giving way to silver.

Nimueh smiles at her, “Ninie, dearest. Keeping your body young really does have perks beyond vanity. Just look at Vivian and Maev, they look so much healthier.”

The oldest, Ninie, stares at her coldly.

“You can’t hurt us,” she says.

Nimueh stops, and smiles up at Arthur. “No, but they can.”

“You’re beyond foolish if you think this can end well for you. And we hold Morgana Pendragon.”

“I don’t intend this to end well,” Nimueh says, sending chills down Arthur’s spine. Where the fuck is Merlin. Arthur has a feeling they are going to need him. “And I don’t particularly care about the girl.”

Arthur snarls. “If something happens to Morgana –”

“Really, Arthur,” Morgana snaps. Hearing her voice is enough to make Arthur slump with relief. He isn’t even annoyed at being interrupted.

Then she drops, elbows the man holding her in the balls and snatches the gun he drops into her own hands.

“Don’t move!” Cedric shouts and Morgana freezes.

>> Merlin, I swear to god. <<

A flash of pain and >> I know. <<

Cedric steps closer to Morgana, Arthur thinks >> Aithusa– <<, and a gunshot rings out.

Arthur sees Morgana’s face going slack but it’s Cedric that falls, Morgause’s gun pointed at him. Arthur can’t see her face, but she stares at Morgana as she slowly lowers her gun.

Nimueh cackles – a sound of madness and joy – and flings her hand up, sending a wave of magic straight at Aithusa. Arthur can feel it breaking in the air around them into tiny ripples of air that brush against his cheeks. Aithusa crouches, but Morgana and Gwaine are too close to them –

Nimueh’s smile is a terrifying thing.

“It really was never our place to rule the world, sisters,” she says. “And I’m so very tired on walking on it.” Her hand goes up again, and Aithusa roars–

>> NO << Arthur thinks desperately, but Aithusa bends her neck, her scales burn scalding hot – he can already smell the sulphur – and she exhales, raining down a shower of blue fire.

Desperately Arthur wrenches the straps holding him open, and jumps.

 

**MERLIN XIII**

The Triad and Nimueh are instantly engulfed in flames. Merlin throws his hand out, in mimicry of Nimueh’s gesture, and _pushes_ at Morgana, Gwaine and Morgause, the fire already licking at them, before they fly backwards to relative safety.

And then Arthur falls, falls and falls, and the blue flame ends. Merlin feels the scream leaving his lungs, but he cannot hear his own voice. He reaches desperately, but there is nothing he can do to break Arthur’s fall – _I can’t lose him._ Merlin closes his eyes and promises to be better if the world just grants him this.

Arthur doesn’t fall to the bare ground, but not by any trick of Merlin’s. Saplings reach to take the first burnt of his fall, and an unnaturally thick layer of bushes and grass snatch his weight with a THUD instead of a CRACK.

 _Please._ Merlin thinks. He sees Gwaine with his hand stretched out, staring at someone, and when Merlin turns to look he sees Sefa, Gwen at her side. His legs give out – one moment he is standing, and next one he is at the ground. A steadying hand finds his shoulder.

“Let me handle the rest,” Mithian says.

xxx

Merlin is not sure how she does it, exactly, but Mithian handles it. And Morgause helps, which makes Merlin’s head hurt even more.

xxx

“Balinor’s dead,” Merlin tells them all later, when thinking of the words no longer makes him want to throw up. They have all figured it out anyway, but he feels like he has to say it. “He was a double agent.”

Arthur reaches for his hand with his free hand that he isn’t using to support the leg the healers weren’t able to mend quite right with a staff. The side of Morgana’s face covered in burns doesn’t echo the sympathetic look the other side gives him.

They’re all tired. The city is in borderline chaos, barely functioning enough to provide people with food and shelter. Push has turned to shove in the streets, outright violence rearing its head at steady intervals. Few members of the council are loudly demanding their execution with half of the force behind them. The other half is following Morgause. (“Did you sleep with her?” Arthur had demanded. Morgana had kicked him on his good leg and said, “I talked to her.” They have largely failed to figure out what that means, and Morgause seems to dislike them as much as ever, but they all agree that she is useful.)

Of the council member few support them freely, rest out of the fear for Aithusa who they thankfully don’t know has disappeared. Arthur says she would come back if they needed her, but she is not back on Merlin’s list of his favourite sentient beings yet, despite the apology Arthur relayed.

“I dreamed of democracy,” Mithian says. “But right now –”

“Some day,” Morgana says, but there is a defeated note in her voice.

“It’s only been few weeks, sister dearest,” Arthur says. Things still seem a bit sore between them, but Merlin suspects they’re too glad to have each other back to fight too much. “Things will calm down, and slowly we can make it all better.”

Merlin, somehow, believes him. _How the hell did I fall so desperately in love with you?_ he thinks.

Arthur gives him a look. >> I’m a dashing hero. As are you, which probably explains why I love you too. <<

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am not the first person to come up with giant metal dragons working with magic: the concept has been executed much better at least by Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett in their fabulous book Havemercy (and the other books in the Volstovic cycle).
> 
> This fic taught me a lot about what not to do, so this has definitely been a learning experience, but if you made it this far I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless.


End file.
